With The Lights Out
by Last of the Lilac Wine
Summary: But she knows one thing: she can't make it through this by herself. Neither can he.
1. Chapter 1

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 1**

* * *

 _ **June**_

Mexico is boiling. Sat on the old, dusty bus with its barely working air conditioning June can see the compressed air motes and heat distortion outside her window. The dirt track the vehicle bumps along seems to ripple.

June shifts in her seat uncomfortably as the bus driver turns up the cheerful, tinny music on the radio. Her shirt is sweaty and the backs of her thighs are stuck to the tattered leather seat.

They are half way between Oaxaca and Acapulco on the coast, though there is no hint of a sea breeze. Most of the people on the bus with her are poor villagers. A man opposite her sits with a hen on his lap, which clucks sleepily every now and then. Though the villagers have another four hours of travelling before they reach the nearest city, June has instructed the driver to drop her in the next twenty miles, just on the outskirts of the jungle. They have not seen any signs of civilization in a while, but June doesn't let the wilderness bother her. She is well prepared.

She goes through her belongings in her bag one more time. Camping equipment. Enough water to last for a week. A harness, carabiners and climbing ropes. Food. The pack is bigger than she is; she'd barely squished it through the door getting onto the bus.

Slung round her neck is an expensive, state-of-the-art camera. She raises it experimentally and snaps a picture of a spider monkey swinging in among the trees that fringe the road. Sunlight filters down blindingly white. When she checks the digital screen, the image comes out plain as day.

The bus pulls to a halt with an abrupt jolt and the driver looks over his shoulder at her expectantly. He jerks his head to the door.

June gets up and clumsily manoeuvres herself down the aisle and off the bus. Nobody looks up or shows a flicker of interest in her departure. They're probably too hot to care.

She coughs as the bus immediately moves off again with a burst of putrid petrol fumes. It leaves a thick cloud of dust in its wake, and she quickly checks her map. She'll have to walk twenty miles by nightfall to stay on schedule, and she knows that's not going to be easy in a jungle like this one. The thick foliage can easily obscure any view of the sun and the undergrowth on the ground would often be equally as dense.

June stares up at the immense wall of jungle in front of her for a moment – is it just her or is it too quiet, as if the forest itself is holding its breath? Deciding not to think about it too much, she hitches her bag straps further up her shoulders, and plunges in. Everything is a bright, jewel green and the air is hotter than an oven. Mosquitos and other small bugs hover low to the ground and June quickly finds herself covered in tiny midge bites – red welts all over her exposed forearms. She ties a knotted handkerchief round her neck to protect her exposed throat. The sun is spun out – bright and clear – overhead.

On the first night she makes her camp in a small clearing, exhausted but pleased. She's trekked the twenty miles she intended and uses her satellite phone to radio in to a friend tracking her progress in Mexico City. She can only use the radio sparingly, to save the battery. Still, it's comforting to hear another human voice. The air is so close here it feels like someone is listening to her. Waiting. She'd be lying if she says the jungle is not unnerving; that the hairs on her arms don't prickle with the buzzing silence.

It's a stupid feeling, but June still tries to make as much noise as possible as she makes her dinner. She crawls into her tent before night fully falls, arranging her mosquito net around herself. It's too hot to even bother with a blanket so she curls up on top of her sleeping mat in her underwear and fishes round in her sack for an object covered in a rich, thick cloth. She unravels the material carefully, using a torch to illuminate a small idol made of clay. Features have been painted onto the doll-like pottery, and red eyes like pin pricks stare up at her. They'd speculated when June's team had excavated the funeral chamber of the temple she was heading for that they might find the incinerated remains of several pre-Aztec leaders. So far they had found nothing, but June was sure this proved that there was something they had missed. This idol represented someone important – someone who had been worshipped. And that someone was human, judging by the tiny breasts that had been etched on. A women.

The next two days the ground in the jungle steadily rises, and June finds it more and more difficult to make progress. The air is more humid than ever and she has to be careful to ration her water supply. She talks to herself every now and then, just to hear her own voice and tracks her progress using the map and satellite phone. She reminds herself that she's done this kind of thing many times before. She's strong.

On the fifth night, unexpectedly, it rains. She has spent the evening in her tent trying to remove a stubborn tick from her leg with a pair of tweezers when she hears it.

The first drop of rain on the tent roof. Then a second. Third, and fourth. And then the deluge comes. She sleeps fitfully, and then wakes around midnight to find her tent leaking and her campsite a swamp. For the first time, panic begins to crawl up June's throat. The rain is so heavy she's spitting it when she crawls hastily out of the tent in the pitch blackness, using the torch on her helmet to pack everything up. She's already ankle deep in rain water and mud, and she trudges through the sludge, looking for higher ground to make her camp. She's exhausted, trying to step from rock to rock in an effort to keep her boots clean, but she soon slips and falls in the mud, the weight of her pack almost crushing her.

 _Get up_. She tells herself, feeling her spirits sink – her breath escaping her in tiny gasps. The rain is so heavy it's almost a monsoon. It is so dark.

June groans and with a monumental effort pushes herself to her feet. The front of her body is covered in mud and her ankle feels twisted from falling. She squints as water pours down her face and into her eyes, trying to figure out where to go. She'd taken her contact lenses out before falling asleep and the landscape looks an indistinct blur. It feels as if she's gone blind.

The roar of the rain is so loud it sounds like thunder. She has that prickly feeling again, and barely slows to pick out a clear path as she stumbles on again through the forest. There's a feeling of almost latent panic that June struggles to push down. She forces herself to focus – she needs to get to higher ground. Get herself to some kind of shelter.

She can't stop.

The next day it continues to rain. Gone are the bright, vivid colours of the jungle and replacing it is a dull bleakness. When June looks up at the sky, all she can see is dark thunderclouds. The foliage at the jungle floor has turned into a swampy mush.

She continues to trek north, her feet snagging on roots and slipping in mud. She finally begins to use her knife to cut down the worst of the foliage in her path. When she radios her friend in New Mexico, they suggest she turns back. Try again another time.

But June isn't one for giving up. She's had worse – much worse – than this rain.

On the final morning, about fifteen miles out from her destination, the sun rises and the sky is clear. The humidity returns, turning June's damp hair to a frizz, but she couldn't care less. She spends the morning hanging her wet clothes from the boughs of trees to dry, barely restraining a grin. Is it her imagination or is the jungle less dense here? Is there more room to breathe? For the first time since the rain started, she allows herself to relax.

Until now, she has scarcely allowed herself to imagine her goal. Perhaps she's superstitious, but she feels as if to visualise it would somehow make it less real. She needs to see it with her own eyes: the pre-Aztec temple base chamber the American Archaeological Institute had discovered whilst on a dig here. A ruin older than old, with a pit of darkness inside they hadn't had the equipment to scale. The blackness had spun out below her, mesmerising, as she'd worked.

And then she'd found the figurine. The voo-doo doll thing that everyone had laughed at and agreed was weird and creepy. The figurine that had markings on that wasn't hieroglyphs. Wasn't the language of the Aztecs – Nahuatl. Something different. Something old.

June spends the rest of the morning going through her pack, trying to salvage what she can. Most of her important things had been protected in waterproof bags. The climbing ropes and her food are still fine. The camera is undamaged. Her book is a soggy mush. The only thing that concerns her is the rope itself. It's a fifty meter rope – good and sturdy. Now she's not so sure it'll be long enough. She imagines that hole - how far down she'd have to go until she reaches the bottom.

She eats lunch and stores everything back in her bag, moving on once more. She ties her greasy hair back with a handkerchief, but the strip of fabric is drenched with sweat after a mile and her contact lenses soon start to sting.

She should be excited. As she nears the top of the gradual incline she's been following for the past six days – the temple lying just beyond the ridge – June knows she should feel…elated. But instead she continues to feel vaguely unsettled. She finds herself checking over her shoulder, even when there's nothing behind her; jumping at the sound of chattering monkeys in the trees. The humidity never relented from the moment she stepped into the jungle, making the very trees feel as if they are pressing in around her. It will be a relief to get to open, clear ground.

She reaches the brow of the hill and her heart constricts. The temple lies in front of her – a ruin eaten up by moss and trees and partly dug up out of the earth. Thousands and thousands of years old. Their technology hadn't been able to precisely date any of the artefacts they'd excavated but this place was older than even the Aztecs. It was a miracle parts of the temple remained at all.

Technically – _technically_ –she should not have returned here, alone. She had been part of the team to excavate it, but authorisation for site access lay with the Mexican government and her boss at the American Archaeological Institute. She'd received clearance from the government, but not from the AAI. They'd told her that there was no need to go down there – that it would be too expensive to excavate, that they were focusing on the sacrificial chamber in the upper levels. Why would she want to go into a black pit when a wealth of findings lay above ground?

June ducked brusquely under the yellow tape that marked out the area perimeter. It felt good to stride across the parched, yellowing grass instead of having to pick her way through plants almost as tall as her. She relished in the feeling of her legs stretching.

The pit itself was behind a collapsed wall at the end of the sacrificial hall; a continuation of a tunnel unearthed in 2013. Inside, her footsteps are swallowed in the heat, like a blanket thrown over to muffle any sound. She slings her bag off her shoulder with a dull _thud._ This part of the hall is bathed dark with shadow – she has to use her torch on her helmet to hammer the pegs firmly into the ground – the dark mouth of the hole gaping in front of her. It occurs to June not for the first time that rappelling an unknown distance with no help probably isn't the smartest thing to do. She's a good climber, but even the best can get into difficulty when not prepared.

She brusquely tucks the figurine of the idol into her jacket and then wastes no time in shrugging into her harness, pulling on the rope to test that it's firmly attached to its anchor. Satisfied, she attaches the rappel device to her belay loop which hangs round her waist and, gripping the rope firmly in her clammy hands, leans back over the hole.

"Marco?" she asks, taking out the satellite radio and speaking into it.

There's only static on the other side, but she hadn't expected him to pick up. They're scheduled check-in was seven in the evening. Still, the crackle of the broken link is slightly unnerving. It echoes through the hall and down the pit too loudly. It makes the silence ring. "...I'm at the temple," June reports, bracing her weight on the rope. "I'm about to go down." She hesitates. Down to where? To find what, exactly? "...I'll be in touch later with my findings. Over."

She drops the radio on the ground by her bag and then, planting her feet firmly against the ledge, descends step by step into the darkness.

She tries to calculate with each step how much of the rope she has used so far. Twenty meters? Twenty five? The mouth of the pit is an opening of light above her, gradually being swallowed up by feet of earthen, rocky walls. She realises with a start half way down that there are human skulls in among the stone and dirt, cracked and brown with age. Part of the foundations, or deliberately placed there, she wonders? Though she's relatively small and nimble, it's a long descent and her arms soon hurt from carrying her weight, her elbow joints flaring with pain. She tries to keep her mind clear, but there's still the dim uneasiness she's had since starting the trip. Her foot dislodges a small piece of bone and June holds her breath as it tumbles beneath her into the abyss. She hardly dares to make a sound, waiting to hear the fragment hit the ground.

….And it does. Almost six seconds later.

June makes it about eighteen more paces down until her rope pulls taut. She tugs on it lightly to double check, but it doesn't give. She's reached the end of her rope.

The sound of her shaky breathing seems to be magnified ten times in the enclosed space. If she lets herself drop and falls too far, she could break a leg. If she lets herself drop and lands safely, she might not be able to climb back up to reach her equipment; she'd be stuck in the pit.

The air is just as hot down here as it is above ground, with no hint of a breeze – meaning that there's little chance of finding another passage out. Still, she seems to hear her name on some, non-existent wind. _June,_ it whispers, breathing up from the abyss like an uncoiling, living monster. _June._

She shivers, glancing back up at the mouth of the pit. Then she looks downwards. The torch on her helmet is weak at best, and illuminates the rocky face her feet are planted against. She thinks she can make out indistinct shapes beneath her, but it might be her imagination. It calls to her again. Whatever _it_ is.

 _June._

"- just imagining things," she mutters to herself, quietly. Swallowing, June reaches to untether herself with one hand. Her fingers feel clumsy as she moves to unclip the harness. She hesitates for barely a breath, and then opens the belay loop.

She lets out a small yell as she plummets to the ground, the air instantly knocked from her lungs.

* * *

 **A/N** Hi guys! I saw Suicide Squad this weekend and, whilst I will admit it was a flawed film in many ways, I was definitely intrigued by the relationship between June and Rick Flag. I really wish they'd explored it further and looked into their past more.

This will be an in-depth look at how the two of them fell in love, from both character's point of view.

Please remember to **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	2. Chapter 2

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 2**

* * *

 _ **June**_

The moment June comes-to she rolls onto her side and vomits, as if that might expel whatever just entered her body. It feels as if a serpent forced its way down her throat and is lying coiled in her belly. She gags violently again, but her body has nothing left to give.

She's shaking badly and freezing, despite the heat. She just wants to curl up into a ball – as if that might contain what's inside of her – but she knows she has to get out of the cave.

She struggles to her feet, the metal clips on her harness scraping along the dusty ground. Her helmet lies cracked at her feet, the bulb intact. June picks it up with a shaking hand. She tries not to look at the cracked figurine – the head lying meters from the body – and rubs a hand at her throat reflexively.

She cannot pretend this hasn't happened. There had been something in there. Something in there that had _entered_ her.

She feels sickened. Violated.

She wanted her body to be surgically opened and this thing to be removed; she can feel it now, nestled like a hard lump of coal beneath her heart.

She shivers and turns, the lamp-light illuminating the walls. Eyeless skulls stare back at her along with images she has not noticed before. Hieroglyphs? She has the presence of mind to quickly snap pictures of them before scrambling out of the abyss.

Out of the hole, June disengages herself from the rope. The sun has moved and she finds her part of the chamber bathed in light, dust eddies swirling in the air. She's dehydrated and the inside of her mouth tastes like stale vomit – she swills water round and spits. She should have been happy with her finding, but all she can feel is a primal fear. Her heart is beating much faster than she would have liked and she's broken out in a cold sweat. She doesn't want to make the seven day trek back through the jungle, but she knows that that is the only way out of this place.

With fumbling hands, June checks the pictures on her camera. The cave markings are tiny images – much like that of the Aztecs. She flicks through ten of them, but can barely think straight to start formulating any theories on what the etches mean. They never had figured out who this temple belonged to.

June stows her climbing equipment and camera back into her bag and leaves without a backward glance.

She stumbles across the plain, still feeling dizzy and sick. She tries to radio Marco but there's no reply. The sun tells her she has enough three hours at least until evening and scheduled contact.

Inside the jungle, her legs move her forward without any thought on her part. Camping becomes a living nightmare. The darkness seems to call to her unnervingly; deadly-looking insects and critters somehow find their way through the tent fabric. She wakes up one morning covered in centipedes.

She hardly sleeps, hardly eats.

On the fifth day of the trek back, June runs her sandpaper tongue over her gritty teeth. She knows she must look terrible; her hair unwashed, her face pale underneath the dirt and sweat. The stale air unnerves her, as does the fact that she now feels as if she can _sense_ the forest. It thrums with energy, buzzes like it has a living, beating heart. Everything had somehow become more enhanced; the jewel tones of the jungle becoming brighter. She feels as if she can see the oxygen she breathes. Sense when the sky threatens rain.

Ever since she's detected a foreign entity in her body, she's become hyper-aware of her own. She can feel the push of her blood in her veins, the beating of her heart against her rib-cage. June develops a reflex for uneasily rubbing at her throat. Three times a day she attempts to heave up whatever is inside of her, but all that she ends up doing is losing her breakfast – making her progressively more exhausted as the days go on.

She's headed east from the temple – making for the nearest village. On the sixth day she stumbles out of the jungle, and that evening she staggers feebly down the dirt track towards the cluster of sandy, brightly coloured houses. It's incredible how quickly the terrain changes from humid jungle to scorched, rocky desert. June craves shade and sleep.

The sunset is flaring bright red as June enters the village, elongating shadows. There is a low periphery of noise: a motor in the distance, an old women breathing in a doorway as she watches June pass.

"Agua," June says hoarsely, to no-one in particular. "Please."

The villagers have stopped their evening activities and turn to watch the young American girl that has just stumbled out of the wilderness – who looks like death walking; who has the wild, desperate eyes of someone touched by the devil.

" _Please_ ," June begs, feeling dizzy.

A wide-eyed young mother clutches her toddlers to her and touches the sign of the cross on her chest.

June feels her legs collapse from underneath her, and she blacks out before she even hits the ground. It's like she's tumbling forward back into the pit. She feels a rush around her and her stomach drop. The thing inside her begins to move. The skulls surround her, spinning as she falls. The paintings on the walls emit human screams. She feels so dizzy, so scared.

And then a hand reaches out of the blackness for her. A small, black hand with fingers as strong as a shackle.

June jerks upright with a gasp, abruptly conscious.

Someone had been attempting to pour water into her mouth and it's in her eyes, running into her hair and down her neck. June coughs and splutters. Wiping her eyes, she looks round. Her contact lenses are gone – probably fallen out – and she can barely make out a thing. She's inside - in a room - she can tell that much. Something is pressed against her lips – the water – and June takes the bottle gratefully taking long pulls of the cool liquid.

Whoever is in the room with her merely watches without speaking.

"Thank you," she says once she has finished all the water, her voice scratchy.

A woman's voice says something in Spanish. They sound old. June can hear them moving around. She jumps when the pillows behind her head are repositioned, allowing her to sit more comfortably. So she's in a bed.

"My bag," she attempts to communicate, squinting as if that might cause her to see around her better.

She feels the strap placed into her groping hand and breathes a sigh of relief that the pack hasn't been stolen. She feels bad for even thinking that it might have been. Moving with familiarity June unzips the flap at the top of the bag and withdraws her glasses, pushing them onto her face.

A sparse room comes into focus. A tiny, wizened old lady staring warily but not unkindly at her. She has a long, salt and pepper braid thrown over one shoulder and leather, tanned skin.

"Agua," the woman says, pointing to the bottle in June's hand.

She smiles, nodding. "Thank you."

The woman is brusque; bossy. "You –" she points at one of the doors out of the bedroom, miming washing. Then thrusts another finger at another door. "You –" she gestures in a way that tells June they are making dinner. Through the door she can smell rich spices and the scent of cooking meat – her mouth begins to water. There's the sound of several voices talking, alerting her to the fact that there must be more people in this house besides her and this woman.

June nods and heads for the wash room which holds a step-in shower paved with grimy white tiles and a chipped sink. After washing she changes into some, if not fresh pair of clothes, at least her cleanest - a hiking top and leggings. She ties her wet hair back into a French braid and puts her glasses back on, looking at herself in the mirror curiously.

There's a brief and sudden slice of memory. A dusty wind cramming down her throat; the feeling of darkness expanding and filling every extremity until she's sure her skin will split.

June gasps, stepping away from the sink as the naked bulb above her suddenly head flickers. The light goes off for a split second, then comes back on again. She checks over her shoulder wildly, sure there's something watching her. As always there's no one there.

June steps into a tiny, cramped kitchen with a roof so low her head almost brushes the ceiling. Crammed into the room is a long, wooden table and a kitchen. Hanging from the wall is a large spice rack and tapestries and mosaics. Adding to the impression of a general lack of space is an older man June assumes is the woman's husband and a young family: father, mother and two daughters.

The young woman speaks with heavily accented English. Her voice is wry, but welcoming as she lays the table for the family meal. No one in the room is still. "You must be the American my mother has been telling us about. You feeling better? Do you need the hospital?"

June allows her lips to quirk at the irony; her problem isn't really one a hospital can fix. "Thank you so much for your help," she says – not an answer at all.

The woman shrugs, as if to say that it wasn't a problem, and then snaps at her oldest daughter in Spanish. " _Gabriele,"_ she points at a pot of stew on the stove, and the small girl stops gawping at June and rushes to stir it.

The old lady in the corner of the room says something loudly to the woman, not bothering to keep her voice down. She rolls her eyes. "My mother wants to know where you came from," she explains, translating. "Why were you so dehydrated?"

"I was hiking and…I ran out of water."

"By yourself?" The young woman asks shrewdly. She glances at June out of the corner of her eye, taking in her glasses and mousy brown hair.

June lets the question slide rhetorically, knowing that her physical appearance doesn't exactly scream adventuring thrill seeker. She holds her camera to her chest, hoping that this family might be able to explain the pictures she saw in the cave and tell her something that might give her a clue as to what happened to her.

She thinks better of it, however, and the family sit down to eat. The mother is called Josefina, though she does not introduce herown mother by any name except Mama. Josefina's husband, Jose, is quiet yet watchful. The cooking is delicious, and as a bowl of stew is passed to her, June has to remind herself to go slow and not simply devour the food like she wants to.

"I was exploring a temple in the jungle," she tests out, trying to gauge what the family know. "That way. About a hundred miles west of your village."

"I didn't know there were any ruins over there," Josefina shrugs, apparently truthful.

"We've just excavated it," she explains, toying with a piece of stringy meat on the end of her fork. "But we think it could be thousands of years old. Older than anything we've previously found in this country." The old lady mutters something under her breath and June shoots a look at her, intrigued. "What did she say?"

"That those hills are cursed," Josefina replies, unconcerned, through a mouthful of bread. "I wouldn't pay her any attention."

"Really? Can you ask her what makes her think that?"

Josefina clearly looks as if she thinks encouraging her mother is a terrible idea, but does as requested. The two woman share a rapid conversation in Spanish. Finally, the younger woman shakes her head. "She says she gets a 'bad feeling'. She doesn't know why."

"Are there any stories or legends about the area?"

But this time, to June's surprise, it is Josefina's oldest daughter who speaks. She's eager, chattering at her mother quickly, who looks even more exasperated than when the old lady spoke. "Gabriele says the girls in the village tell stories about a beautiful goddess who lived in the hills."

"Oh yeah?" asks June, looking at the little girl. "What happened to her?"

"She married a handsome Prince," says Gabriele, simply, as if it were obvious.

"Huh."

June returns to her food. She doubts whatever was in that husk of that figurine had quite such a happy ending.

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Gabriele asks her.

" _Gabriele –_ " her mother snaps, as June chokes on her stew – not expecting the blunt question.

" _What_? I was just _asking_ her –"

She replies in the negative. Her flighty, inconsistent lifestyle didn't exactly lend itself to solid, long-term relationships. She was rarely in the country longer than three months before she flew off to some archaeological dig on the other side of the world, or went travelling. And seeing as June was a people-pleaser, she often tried to curb these instincts to make her partner happy when she was in a relationship; normally resulting in her feeling trapped, resentful and bored. She was better off being single. She _enjoyed_ being single. She could hook up with whoever she wanted. _Go_ where ever she wanted.

 _But who cared about you_ -a snake-like voice in her head whispers - _when you were climbing into that pit? Who wondered if you were safe? Who would have let you do that by yourself?_ She pretends not to listen.

That night, June lies in the bed offered to her by the family. The heat in the village is dryer than it had been in the jungle and she finds it easier to relax. Cradling her camera, she sucks in a deep breath and flicks through the pictures in the darkness, a small candle flickering on her bedside table. Many of the images show a large group of people facing a single one or two. Always, over the crowd is the same symbol: an imperfectly round shape. A sun? A stone? The most June can guess for certain is the symbol for a famine, or a disaster. It appears frequently. Apart from that, the pictures seem dis-jointed and un-chronological. It's hard to pick up a connecting theme or story.

She stashes the camera back in her bag and flips onto her back, heaving a deep sigh. She needs to get back to the Archaeological Institute – maybe they can help her piece this all together. Until then, no-one needs to know she's convinced some kind of ancient being possessed her in that pit. She'd be put into Arkham Asylum for sure.

June stares at the candle for a long moment, debating whether to blow it out or not. She decides that the risk of burning the kind family's house down is not worth her own problems and blows the flame out quickly and abruptly.

The room plunges into darkness.

* * *

The young girl runs through the gardens, shrieking with laughter. The sun is bright and high and her raven black hair glistens behind her. She is elfin-like, tiny and as fast as quicksilver as she darts among the bushes.

She is dressed in rich blue cloth, her feet bare. She'd left her shoes somewhere and her toes dig into the sun-warmed ground. The flowers are rich and tropical around her, burning with colour. A river glitters. An eagle soars overhead.

Behind her a huge pyramid temple thrusts up into the sky. Men with white tunics and spears subtly guard the perimeter. Around the girl's neck is a medallion in the shape of a golden sun. It glints against her chest as she runs.

"Papa!" The girl yells, turning as she catches sight of someone. She can barely be older than eight, a look of mischief in her eyes and a giggle in her voice. There's a light dusting of freckles across her nose.

 _Papa look!_

* * *

June wakes with a start.

The room is completely silent save for her own, thundering heartbeat. Outside the window the stars are clear in the night sky.

She presses a fingernail into the palm of her hand and draws blood, just to make sure she's really awake. Really _her._ Because that dream hadn't been a dream; it had been a memory - a memory that was thousands of years old. June feels the sting of her nail cutting her skin. _You're you_ , she tells herself. _You're here._

Everything had felt so real and so vivid – as if it were happening in present day. The temple. The sounds. The smells. The jealousy she'd felt upon waking, that hadn't been hers, either. Her heart still beats fast with adrenaline fuelled rage and she takes deep breathes to calm herself. She shuts her eyes, but against her eyelids she sees a shadowshow: her, stumbling through the jungle in the rain; her, falling into the pit; the pin-prick eyes of the doll.

June opens her eyes. She hasn't got her glasses on, but she can distinctly see that the candle has somehow re-lit itself. On the floor, is an expanding, writhing black mass. Her stomach lurches and she scrambles to sit upright in bed, forcing her glasses on. Abruptly, June can make out spiders swarming from a crack in the floorboards. Hundreds and hundreds of small, tiny spiders.

She forces herself to breath past the knot in her chest as she watches the spiders fan out across the room and stream up the posts of her bed.

"What's happening to me?" she whimpers, squeezing her eyes shut, convinced she's having a nightmare. But when she opens her eyes, the spiders are still there and the candle is still lit. The spiders start to crawl up her ankle.

* * *

 **A/N** I don't feel like the film went enough into Enchantress's motivations or history, so I'm padding it out here (and also tweaking it slightly) - so there'll be a bit of mystery in later chapters.

I'm having a blast writing about June's haunting. It's going to be slow-burn. The scared and frightened June we see at the government meeting is going to be a person she descends into, and not who she is at the beginning.

I promise we'll see Rick fairly soon, I'm just trying to lay some foundations for the story here.

Finally: thank you to everyone who reviewed this story. I'm glad you all love Rick and June as much as I do. (Also, Joel Kinnaman was insanely good in Suicide Squad - I nearly teared up at the end.)

Please remember to **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	3. Chapter 3

**WITH THE LIGHTS OFF**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 3**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

"Alright, which one of you sissy's wants to try next?"

Rick rolls his eyes as his second-in-command tauntingly dribbles the orange ball in front of him. It's shitty and deflated, meaning it barely bounces higher than Grant's waist. Like a lot of things in this place, the ball seems to wilt in the heat. The asphalt glistens in the mid-day sun and his torso is streaked with sweat. They're all shirtless, having long since chosen to discard their T Shirts at the side of the court.

He and his squad have been up through the night completing night-time training exercises. Two hours of stalking waist-deep through stinking swamps; two hours of diving practice; three hours of tactical shooting and a final hour of running laps – stinking of salt water and covered in mud - as the sun rose. It had been a relief to finally shed the fifty pounds of kit and body armour. They've been in Florida a month and Rick still isn't used to the heat. Afghanistan had been hot; but it hadn't been humid. Not like this.

His men had done well. He'd been with the same team of eight men for about five years now – give or take a few guys. They'd been silent when stealth had been demanded. Kept low and fast. Rick had been impressed that their Rookie, Tyler, had kept up with the demands of a Specials Forces unit. The tall, lanky kid was now playing attack for his team, grinning and yelling, not showing a sign of last night's efforts - even though they'd all only got about four hours shut-eye this morning.

Rick tries to ignore the sweltering heat and abruptly lurches forwards to intercept Grant. But the younger man is much faster – side-stepping and slicing through his three-man defence – shooting the ball through the hoop. There's a groan from Rick's team.

Grant lets out a low whistle, trotting over to retrieve the ball and tucking it under his arm. "See that?" he asks – cocky - using the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat from his eyes. His sunglasses are perched on top of the baseball cap that he permanently wears, turned back-to-front. "Pretty good throw."

"Yeah, you were out of bounds, dick," Rooster – their oldest man at thirty-seven – replies. He's wearing a dusty bandana round his forehead, like an aged rocker, and there's the beginnings of a beer-belly round his torso. He cuffs Grant round the head so that his cap falls off, revealing sweaty brown hair stuck up at the back like a ducks tail.

"Still a good shot, Rooster!" Grant points at the older man, winking, as Rick moves back to re-take his position on the other side of the court. "Still a good shot."

Before they can recommence play, however, his name is yelled across the army barracks.

" _Rick_!"

He turns – already recognising the voice. It's their base commander, Andrew Stucky.

Rick takes off his sunglasses, squinting slightly against the harsh sunlight. "Commander," he greets.

"I need a word."

Rick follows him into the large, concrete building that sits next to the younger recruits' dormitories and follows Stucky up to his office. The building is practical in the extreme, lacking the flash and tech of DC. The corridors are dark and shady, but it takes Rick an almost inhuman amount of time for his eyes to adjust. It's a relief when they get to Stucky's office on the top floor to feel the cool rush of the A.C.

"What's up?" Rick asks the senior officer, settling into a chair across the desk from him. They've known each other long enough not to need formalities.

Andy rubs a hand over his bald head, looking slightly harassed. He blows out a breath. "You're squad's been given an assignment. Just got the orders through."

Rick's back straightens, not missing the edge to Stucky's voice. "Sir," he says – more a question than a reply.

"DC want a small, highly trained enforcement squad to ID criminal meta-human's in the area. Your team were suggested."

Rick inhales sharply and looks out the window, trying to gain time to think. The window has been so well polished that it's bright with white sun glare. Outside, he can just make out the American flag hanging limply from its post without wind. He doesn't like this…for so many reasons. He's never dealt with meta-human's before, for starters. And the term 'ID' was a thin veil for 'forcibly bring in'. He _liked_ working with humans. It was straight-forward and uncomplicated and morally ethical. "Stucky," he says, eventually. "That ain't our field, man."

The other man sighs and settles back in his chair, revealing dark sweat patches in the armpits of his blue, ironed shirt. It's clear that he expected Rick to be resistant to the idea. "Rick, do you know that the US government discovered more meta-humans this year than they have in the past two years _alone_?"

Rick rubs at the unshaved scruff across his jawline heavily, contemplating this. "Not all are hostile," he replies, eventually.

"No," agrees Andrew. "Not all. And that's not what this is about."

"C'mon –" he protests- half-exasperated. " _ID_!? We both know that's bullshit! That's code for fuckin' -" But Andrew cuts across him.

"The US army is becoming out-dated," he says, the expression on his face clearly displaying how distasteful he finds this fact. "Sooner – rather than later - our soldiers will no longer be the first wave of defence. We'll be playing second-fiddle to these… _enhanced_ individuals. Less expensive than shipping across a shit-ton of gear and ammunition to a foreign country. Less accountability for our government."

"So you're telling me that me and my squad are…obsolete." The words taste like ash in Rick's mouth. Bitter, like he's just been forced to swallow battery acid. In fact, that might have been preferable. "…Do you know what kind of hell we've been through? We've _bled_ for this country. We've lost _men_ – _good_ men - and you sit here and tell me that all pales next to the fact that Superman could punch a hole through a building?" His fists clench and he shakes his head in disgust. "Unbelievable."

"No one's saying the things you've achieved are insignificant, Rick," Andrew replies, quietly. The row of badges and medals on his chest catch the sun and gleam. To Rick they suddenly seem tragically archaic – like they should belong in a museum. "But times are changing. And we've got to change with them."

"I'd say we're a little over-qualified to be dog-tagging meta-humans," he shoots back, his drawl managing to hold an edge.

Stucky shrugs, finally managing to loosen his tie. "They wanted someone who was dependable. Someone who could pull missions off with subtlety. You know there's no one better for the job."

He ignores the flattery. "They?" he asks.

"Orders from the new order. Some government woman called Amanda Waller. Word has it she's the one who's got the Secretary of Defence dancing on puppet strings. I imagine she'll be paying you a visit sometime – you'll be reporting to her, not me."

"So a new division then?"

"Looks like it."

Rick cracks his knuckles unconsciously. Beyond the high, barbed-wire fences of the base, brightly coloured palm trees sway. He's unnerved that he can't see where this all will lead…who knew what kind of crap they could end up caught in. Meta-human's were a notoriously controversial area. They could just as easily be court-marshalled as given a pat on the back and a medal.

As if sensing what he's thinking, Stucky leans forward on the desk. "Look. Rick. Do you really think I have the authority to sanction new security branches? Do you think I decide how you all operate in Florida? These orders come from much, much higher up than me. From Washington."

"No, I know," he replies, heavily. "It's just…we haven't been trained for this Stucky."

He actually chuckles, though there's no humour behind his eyes. "You think there's a blueprint for this kind of thing?"

Rick stills and fixes his boss with a piercing look. He has has long since learnt that simply looking at a person in the right way can be enough to unnerve them. His grey eyes are like a knife, and he uses them to effect. "This is all by-the-book, right?"

The other man rests back in his chair again, as if to put some semblance of distance between them. "C'mon –"

"No – Stucky –" Rick pushes, frustrated. "Is this legit? Cause you gotta tell me if it's not. You got your orders, but these are _my_ men. I gotta know what I'm getting them into."

But the other man just shrugs, pretending to busy himself with arranging some papers on his desk. "Why don't you ask your new boss?"

Rick stands and looks out the window to see a helicopter landing on the swathe of parched grass. A dark cavalcade of cars he doesn't recognise stream into the barracks. Within minutes, the place is swarming with personnel in dark uniforms and earpieces – like something out of a bad sci-fi movie. Except that this is _his_ base, goddammit, and _his_ men, and this isn't remotely funny. He hears Andy move to come and stand next to him as they both watch a short, stocky woman jump out the helicopter without help. She's straightens the jacket of her blood red pant suit before striding across the grass as if she already owns the place.

"Amanda Waller," Andy tells him; a peculiar smirk on his face that could be a grimace. "They call her the 'Wall'."

Rick folds his arms. Sardonic. "I like her already."

They head down to greet their new guests, who are already busy making themselves right at home.

"Ms Waller," he says, respectfully, as he assembles his men for her to inspect. "These are my guys. Special Forces."

Amanda Waller surveys the seven men in front of her – all twice her height – without blinking. Shit, Rick kind of wishes the lady would blink. Grant shoots him a look out of the corner of his eye, but otherwise doesn't shift an inch. There hasn't been time to explain to his second-in-command, but it would've been hard for Grant not to notice that in the space of about sixty seconds their military base had become an out-post for a new government intelligence branch. The Suits (as Rick refers to them in his head) have already taken over the offices in the main building. Around the barracks, other training soldiers stand with their hands on their hips, watching; all with an identical expression on their face. They all got a bad feeling about this.

Waller nods to herself, once, after her gaze flits down the line. It's a brief inspection, but one gets the feeling she has carried it out surgically – a dissection. He can't tell if she's satisfied with what she sees or not.

"You all work for me now," she announces, finally. Some of his men stiffen visibly with surprise. Rick tries to avoid their gaze, keeping his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes straight ahead. "My name is Amanda Waller. My division are absorbing your squad to form a small, meta-human task force in Florida. This is the first task force of its type. You are my guinea pigs. We expect results." Her sentences are short and clipped, but she keeps her tone neutral and conversational. Her understated way of giving orders makes Rick's skin crawl; he's used to people yelling and shouting swear words in his face. Amanda Waller's quiet, underhand intimidation is a far more insidious way of breaking a person. "You'll be working closely with my intelligence staff who will provide you with targets. Let me tell you in no uncertain terms that the only reason we need you is to make this legitimate in the eyes of the government….our division cannot operate nationally without the co-operation of the US army. If it was up to me, I'd be using my own men." Despite himself, Rick feels the corner of his lips quirk. At least she was honest. "Am I clear?"

"Yes ma'am," his men reply, instantly. Grant hesitates for just a fraction of a second longer than the others.

"Flag?"

"Yes ma'am," he looks Waller in the eye.

"No one goes crying to Daddy –" she says, coolly – pointing a finger up at Stucky's office, who has now drawn the blinds across his window. Rick makes a sounds in the back of his throat. Poor asshole's probably hiding. "Your men work for me now. You belong to me. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Good." She takes her iPad out and preoccupies herself with scrolling through several emails. "Stay on-site until you are mobilized. Flag, report to me for debriefing."

She heads off to conduct business elsewhere, and the minute she's out of ear-shot, Grant is immediately at his side. The rest of the team take a while to disperse; they kick at the dust and squint up at the harsh sunlight, as if unsure what to do with themselves. The basketball has been run-over by an SUV: ground into the dirt like a flat orange pancake.

"What's going on, man?" Grant asks, his jaw locked tight. "Who the hell is this lady? Who _are_ these people?" Like most of the soldiers, Grant looks at the Suits with distaste. There has always been little respect between the intelligence agencies who point out a direction, and the soldiers who shoot.

Rick keeps his face impassive. "Squad's been drafted as part of a new task-force to ID criminal meta-humans. She's head of our new division." He keeps his voice carefully clear of any emotion or judgement. They're buckled in for the ride now: it wouldn't be professional for him to show doubt or suspicion. It's up to him to make sure his men carry out all op's clean – minimal fuss.

Grant, on the other hand, spits dryly onto the ground. "Meta-human's," he states, flatly. "Didn't think I'd ever get involved in this shit." Rick doesn't reply, but his second-in-command continues to push him belligerently. "You agree to this?"

"Yeah. I did."

Grant sneers, his voice too loud. "That's brilliant…that's great…thanks for that – really –"

Rick wants to snap that he doesn't like this, either, but instead he turns his back abruptly on the direction Waller has just left in, so that no one can see the tight anger on his face. "Will you stop acting like a fuckin' kid for one God-damn second?" he hisses, his face close to Grant's ear. He's aware that Waller's people could be watching. The thought makes him antsy. "Pull yourself together."

The younger man does seem to get better control of himself for a second, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "This is insane," he spits, finally, before stalking off.

It's a kind of submission, and Rick lets him go without following him. Grant's always been hot-headed…always been the guy who has a finger on the trigger – but that isn't why he's reacted the way he has. Rick watches him walk off across the training ground, noticing the way Grant's massive shoulders are hunched slightly. A month ago, the younger man's parents had been in Metropolis, where Batman and Superman had fought Lex Luthor. The city had been all but destroyed and his parents hadn't survived.

Stucky's words echo in Rick's head…. _Times are changing_. _And we've got to change with them._

He looks at the massive black SUVs that dominate the yard. Workmen have appeared from somewhere to post several more satellite dishes on the roof of the main building. Soldiers are still walking round uneasily and scratching their heads - as if stunned that a miniature coup has taken place so quickly, without them even realising.

Stucky was right: the world was changing.

That didn't mean that Rick Flag had to be happy about it.

* * *

 **A/N** Rick chapter! I love writing from his perspective; Suicide Squad gave him this long-suffering, sardonic personality that was a great foil for all the Harley Quinn craziness. I also wanted to make him a bit of marshmallow on the inside - show how caring and protective he can be of the people he loves.

I promise June and Rick will meet soon, I just like to set up the foundations for the story and my characters first.

Please remember to **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	4. Chapter 4

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 4**

* * *

 _ **June**_

She rolls the windows down fully, allowing the cool wind to hit her face as she drives.

She'd hitched a ride with Jose to Puebla and from there hired a car to drive herself up to her parents' house in Florida. The engine of the old Ford protests slightly as she pushes it into a higher gear and accelerates faster down the freeway, revelling in the feeling of freedom. Here, she can almost forget the knawing fear in her stomach. The feeling of paranoia, like she's being constantly watched.

June's spent the past twenty-four hours wondering what to do. She has three days before she's due to go back to work at the Archaeological Institute in North Carolina. Even _contemplating_ returning to her normal life feels wrong. Not when she still doesn't have a clue what's happened to her or what or whom the temple they discovered is for.

June chews on her thumbnail, keeping one hand securely on the wheel.

She'd decided to visit her parents and search for some answers from there. She'd email the pictures she'd taken up to her boss, Rob, along with a plea for forgiveness for having brushed aside the metaphorical and literal red tape. Maybe he'd figure out what the symbols meant.

And then what? Plan an exorcism? Hold a séance? Even in her head it sounds ridiculous, but June isn't a fan of Plan B: going into a hospital and telling a doctor she thinks she has a seven-thousand-year-old woman trapped inside her. At least if she tries an exorcism in her own room, nobody will be there to laugh at her.

She rubs at her throat again before she can stop herself. In the daylight she feels stupid for jumping at shadows, but at night the situation isn't quite so juvenile. June knows she can't simply write this off as a few nightmares or a breakdown of nerves. Those spiders had been real. Whatever had rushed out of the figurine and into her, that had been real, too.

She can feel her glasses forming a sweaty indentation on the bridge of her nose and a car horn blares after her as she speeds past, fast on the outside lane. A large sign flits past her window and she almost doesn't have time to process what it's telling her. Almost. It's merely a show of support for the Flash – a lightening bolt on a red background, but June resists the urge to bang her forehead against the steering wheel in frustration. She's been so _stupid_! Who else would be move receptive to her problem than people who deal with the impossible? The incredible?

A long time ago – back when all this started happening – the government had set up a meta-human hot-line to report unusual activity. She pulls off the highway and, after a moment's hesitation, dials the number. Someone picks up on the second ring.

"Yes?" A voice asks – bored.

June wrinkles her nose. Somehow the idea of sharing this with a bored telephone operator feels wrong.

"Yes?" The person pushes again, grumpy.

"Er – sorry I think I got the wrong number," she mutters, blushing furiously.

"No you didn't. Do you need to report a meta-human?"

 _Was_ she a meta-human? She thinks of the Flash and Superman; she didn't have super-strength or super-speed. They were heroes. She wasn't like that. She wasn't _enhanced_ in any way. There was just something not entirely…human…inside of her. "Yes," June clears her throat, resting her head back against her headrest as she steals herself. "…me."

"Please state your name."

"June Moone."

"And your occupation and place of work."

"The archaeological institute in Charlotte, North Carolina."

"And your current address and social security number."

The hairs on the nape of her neck prickle. "Is that necessary?"

"You are registering on a government census." The voice has not changed from its bored monotone. "For the safety of all, our project must know your current where-abouts."

"Who runs this project?"

"The government."

"Yeah, but _who_?"

"That is classified information," the voice replies, evenly. "Please can I have your home address and social security number."

June stares out of the window. "This was a mistake," she says, finally. "I'm sorry."

The person doesn't shift. "Please can I have your home –"

"You know what?" She snaps, her temper suddenly flaring. "Go to hell."

She cancels the call. Takes a deep breath and then - "Shit!" June lets her body fold forward and bumps her forehead against the steering wheel, angry tears pricking at her eyes as she lets out a string of swear words. She feels frustrated – disappointed. She's stumbled through a jungle for almost a fortnight. She has barely slept. She just wants some answers. Desperately.

Her journey to Florida takes her the better part of the day, but there's a feeling of profound relief as she reaches the Floriday Keys – with its sprawling, flat beaches and low green trees. Everything is close to the ground here, as if to somehow escape the oppressive humidity. The bright blue sea is flecked with honey as the sun begins to set.

She's home.

June pulls into the driveway of a small, navy wooden beach-house raised up on stilts just above the flood line. The yard is a mess, but the garden is kept neatly pruned with colourful flowers. When she gets out the car, June can hear the creaking of crickets as dusk begins to fall. She pops the lid of the trunk and heaves her hiking bag out, slinging it over one shoulder.

"Heyy! Back from the dead?" Her parents and younger brother rush at her as she opens the door.

It's an old joke of her father's; June often disappears on expeditions for weeks at a time (though she likes to remind him that she's yet to miss a Christmas or birthday.) He doesn't realise how close his statement came to being true this time, and June resolves then and there not to let on to her family what kind of emergency she's in. She stutters an unintelligible response which is instantly lost in the general chatter

"How'd it go, honey?" Her mother, Miranda, asks her – attempting to take her bag from her, despite the fact it weighs a ton. "Did you find anything?"

"Mom – don't – I've got it –" June protests, glancing at her younger brother, Jamie, who towers head and shoulders over their parents. At twenty, he's also become twice as muscular, apparently having taken up extreme weight-lifting in her absence.

" _I've_ got it," he throws in, smirking broadly as he takes her bag from her with one hand, a cold beer in the other. "Good to see you, sis."

They've had this house since June was eight, when her parents moved down from Texas. It hasn't changed much – still barely large enough for four people (especially now that those four people were adults), but her family had always scraped along. It didn't hurt that they lived in paradise, either. You could see the sea from the kitchen window and their backyard was a small, private beach.

June hovers in the narrow hallway, running her fingertips across the family photos hanging on the wall. She feels a profound sense of nostalgia, being home. Her eyes find a picture of her and Jamie, out at sea in one of their father's kayaks.

Her brother is five years younger than her. In this picture they are both still young. Jamie's hair is still light, like June's, and jelled up into spikes.

" _Ja-mie_ ," her voice tests, looking at the picture.

June snatches her fingers away as if electrocuted. A chill of horror raises goosebumps on her arms. That hadn't been her. The thinghad actually _spoken_ through her. She covers her mouth, a choked gasp escaping her as realises…it was _learning._

" _June_!" her father yells, from the lounge. "Get in here!"

She presses the heels of her palms into her eyes. She shouldn't have come home. Her sense of sanctuary is ripped from her as she wonders, for the first time, if she's a danger to others; a threat to her own family.

" _Stay away from my brother_ ," she hisses fiercely at her reflection in the photo frame's glass.

June sits uneasily with her family for the rest of the evening. It's hard not to be physically comforted by their presence; not to be exasperated by her brother – who _still_ hasn't held down a job for more than three months – or laugh at her father. But at the same time she's tense, waiting for something to happen.

"June?"

"Huh?" She's broken from some kind of trance as her mother waves her hand in front of her eyes. She'd been staring at the TV. Not at the programme, but at the flickering images – the changing of the channels – the –

"I _said_ , how long do you think you're going to stay? A week? I've got your room all clear and it's really no trouble," she says, her tanned, tiny hand resting on June's younger one where it lies in her lap; her touch lighter than a child's. Her mother looks eager; hopeful. She loves having the family together.

"Sorry Mom, I've got to be back in Carolina for work in a few days," June stands and drops a kiss on top of her head. "Can I use your computer?"

Her mother sighs. "Sure, hon."

The aged family computer in the study seems to take forever to come alive. Neither of her parents use it much; her father runs canoeing trips along the Key and her mother works in a small café. Eventually, June manages to load up all the pictures from her camera and sends them over to Rob, writing a quick explanation in her email. She bends the truth – or, rather, she lies – makes it sound as if the idol broke when she fell. It sounds a lot better than 'the voice told her to snap its head off'. If Rob found out she had _purposefully_ broken an artefact she'd be carrying out desk assessments for months and wouldn't conduct any primary field research again. She leaves out the part where she tells him she thinks she's being possessed. Then she prints out her own copies.

June rubs her eyes, feeling exhausted but unwilling to go to bed. If she sleeps, she'll dream. If she sleeps, she loses herself. And besides, she still hasn't figured out the cave pictures – what or whose story they tell – or decided what yet to do about the weird hauntings.

Next to the computer keyboard June spreads out a sheet of paper and picks up a pen, trying to sketch out the most recurrent symbols. The wonky circle. A sun. Wilted crops that could be a sign for sickness or famine. A skull. She bites her lip, surveying the pictures. Most of them were pretty self-explanatory: the skull would be death…the sun…could just be a sun. But most of the time these things weren't literal. Beneath the sun June writes: _power, new life, joy, happiness_. She tilts her head and glances at the cave pictures again, as if they will suddenly make sense.

Nope.

She sighs.

There's a knock on the door and she jumps, turning to see her father in the doorway. "Me and your Ma are turning in – don't stay up too late, you here?"

June resists the urge to roll her eyes. She's twenty-six. "Okay, Dad." She can hear Jamie watching a film in his bedroom, the sound of explosions and gun-fire turned down low.

Predictably, Rob doesn't take too long to respond. June has known him long enough to know that the guy's practically nocturnal, and can always be relied upon to reply within an hour to a late-night email. She cringes and skips over the bulk of the email - an angry, strongly-worded rant about regulatory authorities and investors – to the bottom.

 _I'm sorry but I can't tell you much. All we know for sure is that these paintings probably tell the story of Dzmor, a magical Princess. She crops up on a lot of the pottery and scrolls we excavated in 2013. I think she was a pretty big deal. I'll let you know if we match anything from the original artefacts with these pictures. I expect to see you at work Friday. No excuses._

June looks at the pictures on her camera again for what feels like the thousandth time. She remembers Gabriele's story about a beautiful Goddess who married a handsome Prince. Was this the pretty young girl from her dream last night? And was the idol she cracked supposed to be a representation of Dzmor, or someone else? How did she end up trapped in there?

June pulls herself back to reality, only to find that she's been staring, transfixed, at the alien blue glow of the computer screen. It's frozen. Frustrated, June moves to thump her fist on top of it – her tried-and-tested way of getting technology to work – but the moment her hand connects with the computer there's a fizz and the monitor begins to flicker wildly, as if it's having some kind of fit. June hears a low whirring – getting steadily louder. Beneath her hand, the computer is rapidly becoming too hot; almost burning to touch. The cables connecting it to the wall begin to emit a shower of sparks and the lights above her head start to shutter.

Frightened, June jerks her hand away and there's a _bang_ – like a firework going off. Everything plunges into blackness and in the other room she hears her mother give a horrible shriek.

June's stomach drops, fearing the worst. " _MOM!?_ " she cries out, charging out of the room blindly. " _Mom are you okay?! MOM!"_ She pounds on the bathroom door and her mother opens it with a huff. June can just about make her out in the moonlight – unharmed.

"I'm fine," her mother huffs. "Just gave me a shock, is all."

June wilts against the doorframe, relieved. "Sorry – you – you scared me."

Jamie lumbers up behind her – an indistinct hulking mass in the pitch black. "We have a power cut," he informs them both, succinctly.

"Yeah, well noticed, genius," June shoots back, recovering slightly. She pushes past him to get to the kitchen, rummaging through the cupboards. There were always black-outs along this part of the Key and her mother was always well-stocked with candles. She finds a mis-match of six wax candles and gathers them up into her arms, scooping Jamie's lighter up from the granite worktop.

Next to her, her brother is using a flashlight to examine the fusebox nestled in a cupboard above the washing machine.

"Huh," he mutters to himself, looking closely at something.

"What is it?" June asks, trying to keep her voice even.

Jamie illuminates a red wire – or what is left of it. It's melted in the middle, the plastic like play-dough. "That wasn't a power cut. Something's overloaded the fuse wire." He flashes the light out the window, in the direction of their neighbours house. "Look like the Jacksons are out, too. Weird. Must have been some kind of surge on the grid."

"Yeah," June mutters. She indicates to the candles in her arms. "You mind if I take these?"

Jamie shrugs. "Knock yourself out."

She waits quietly for her brother and parents to go to bed and then takes a deep breath.

"Okay," she whispers to herself, focusing on slowing the rapid beating of her heart. "Okay."

She eases the sliding door leading to the beach open and steps quietly out of the house barefoot. There is no way in hell she's doing this near her family. Not when the thing had recognised Jamie in the photo. June shivers. Was it always watching? Could it hear what she was thinking? Feel what she was feeling? How did this work, exactly?

She quietly opens the door to their dilapidated, leaky shed. It smells faintly of fish and seaweed and is crammed full with her father's canoes and kayaks and her brother's diving equipment. Not exactly an auspicious place to summon a seven-thousand-year-old spirit.

Feeling slightly ridiculous, but a lot more scared, June sets the candles up in a circle, lighting them as she goes. She wonders practically if she needs the idol – or some other item from the cave that might form a kind of connection with the spirit.

 _A connection_ , June jeers in her mind at herself. "This is stupid," she mutters, shakily, finally settling cross-legged in the middle of the ring. In the past, she had always laughed at horror movies and ouija boards; but that was before she knew ghosts were real. "So, so, so stupid."

She forces herself to shut her eyes, even though she'd much rather keep them open. Blind, she finds that her hearing becomes sharper – the insects and the waves outside become louder. She can _feel_ the night-time heat on her clammy skin, a thick blanket. June wrinkles her nose at the pungent smell of fish.

"You can do this," she tells herself, trying to ignore these distractions. She cracks her knuckles absentmindedly. She needs answers.

She takes her glasses off and folds them carefully, setting them beside her and closes her eyes once more. The flames from the candles seem to burn on the inside of her eyelids – like the tiny red eyes of the voodoo doll. Almost mesmerising.

June breathes slowly and evenly through her nose, not wanting to disturb a thing.

She tries to imagine the pit – the skulls – and most importantly the cave pictures. Unbidden other memories flash through her mind. She remembers falling into the mud the night of the storm, the beginnings of panic clawing up her throat. She remembers the feeling of being watched as she had made her way through the jungle. The spiders crawling up through the floor – moving like a single entity.

But no, those are _her_ memories and _her_ fears. The spirit had only truly responded to one thing – the girl.

June squeezes her eyes shut harder, concentrating. She tries to remember every detail of the dream. The precise sound of the girl's laughter. The warmth of the earth as she ran through the gardens. June finds herself getting lost in a memory she should not be able to access; that is not her own.

 _Papa_! The echo is her cry is filtered through hundreds of years. _Papa look at me!_

"C'mon," she finds herself whispering under her breath, as she continues to dangle the bait. "C'mon."

 _Papa_! The girl calls again.

And then a man is striding after her, tall and strong – adorned in golden jewellery. The view point of a child makes him look huge – God-like. The girl's father? " _Ankita,"_ he calls. " _Do not go further."_

Rage burns so sudden and white hot that June is pulled from the memory. It fills her body – causing her eyes to snap open in shock. But even like this, the feeling does not dissipate.

 _No,_ a voice in her head whispers – strong and alien.

June is paralysed, she couldn't move if she wanted to. The depth of the beings anger is enough to frighten her. She has pushed it too far. Her heart is beating a tattoo on her chest. She tries to move. Tries to twitch a finger. She can't. The flames of the candles suddenly leap into the air, growing by about ten inches. She would have jumped if she could move; instead her eyes widen an infinitesimal degree. This is impossible. This is a nightmare.

 _No._ The voice reverberates in her skull – the words coming in a broken form of English.

June struggles. She's trapped in her own mind. Stuck. She flails desperately and – like knocking a jar from a shelf – knocks into something. Unbidden, the memory of the girl running through the gardens appears again, only this time June is aware of watching her. Of feeling jealousy.

She is jealous of the girl's beauty. Of the father's concern. Of the free, open air and the sunlight. With a jolt, June notices what she has not noticed before: there is another girl watching through a pair of bars in the temple wall. The bars are at ground level – the opening barely large enough to look more than a sewer drain – and partly obscured by a bush. A scrawny hand with fingernails so filthy they are almost black clings to the metal. It's a small girl – the same age as the other one, with light hair now so greasy it's dark, hanging in ropes around her face. Her skin is dirty, her eyes huge and unerringly black. There's a faint aura of darkness around her, pulsating like a living entity. June detects none of the bitterness or evil in the child's face that she can feel now – the girl only looks achingly sad and desperate. She is looking at the man.

 _Papa_ the girl whispers – reaching out for him.

No one sees her.

June comes back to her own world, sucking a deep breath in like she's been drowning. She has enough time to feel vaguely stunned and punch-drunk at the memory before she realises that she can move again. Whatever it is, the thing's control has been broken. It's receded – for whatever reason – and she wastes no time in scrambling to her feet. June launches for the door like a loaded sprinter, leaving the candles extinguished eerily behind her.

She runs for the house without a backwards glance, her feet kicking up white sand. She wrenches the door open and flicks the light switch in the kitchen desperately before remembering that the power's out.

She shuts the door behind her and locks it for good measure: she's had enough craziness for one night.

When her heartbeat returns to normal and she can think straight again she begins to feel confusion and frustration. What _were_ these memories? And who was the other girl she'd seen in the cell? Dzmor had been a beautiful magician, but it had been the other girl who had clearly been magical. June remembers the creepy black aura around the child – then the heart-breaking despair etched almost permanently onto her small, heart-shaped face. Despite herself, she feels a rush of pity.

* * *

 **A/N** Thank you all for your incredible reviews and messages of support.

I thought it would be best to try and rationalize June's actions here - I've seen a lot of jokes on the internet about experienced archeologists with PhD's snapping the heads off of figurines, most of which are pretty funny. I decided to settle on 'the voices made me do it' scenario and then try and brush it under the carpet. (Still - lazy writing from David Ayer's writing team).

I hope you guys are enjoying my take on June and this story.

Please remember to **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N** I like to imagine that the song Rooster is listening to in the car is ' _Highway To Hell_ '.

* * *

 **WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 5**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

It's broad daylight and passers-by turn and gape as the huge black cars accelerate fast down the main street. Heads turn like a Mexican wave; tourists point. They have turned the corner before most can fully register who or what are inside the vehicles, and their cavalcade continues to smoothly snake through the traffic at high speed, glinting dangerously in the harsh sunlight.

It doesn't help that Rooster is blasting music through the radio at an ear-splitting volume. Rick had told him to turn the crap down, but Amanda Waller had said it was fine; who knew, maybe the lady liked heavy rock. Rick checks in the rear-view mirror. She's in the back, looking out of the window calmly as they continue to draw attention to themselves. Rick knows it doesn't matter – the extraction will be quick. In and out before anyone realises what has happened.

Grant is sat in the back with Waller – hunched up on the other side of the truck as far away from the woman as possible. The rest of his squad and her agents are in the vehicles behind.

Rooster takes a sharp, controlled left as they drive out of the city and into the suburbs. They're in Savannah, Georgia this week. Here, large trees line the roads, their boughs covered in moss. The silver-grey strands hang like year-round Halloween decorations; an impression only enhanced by the rickety wooden houses.

This is their fifth op, and everyone is relaxed, despite the fact they're wearing helmets and full combat gear. Waller has, for the most part, kept things legit. Meta-humans are bought in, interrogated quietly, and moved on to jail. If she is looking for something, Rick can't figure out what it could be. That's not his job.

"Two blocks from target," Grant announces, listening closely as the information is fed through his ear-piece. Travelling as fast as they are, they are only a minute away now. Rick holds his automatic rifle more securely to his chest and squares his shoulders. Even though the truck is huge, his knees are still jammed uncomfortably against the glove compartment – his legs are too long; he's too tall. Waller does not give any indication that she has heard the warning, just continues to sit and look out the window. She has been present for every single one of their missions and Rick is now used to her indifferent, calm presence: always there, always peripheral.

"One block."

"Alrigh'," Rick calls into the radio to his men. There is no need for instructions now: they have all been debriefed. The aim here is for speed – if each person doesn't know their job already, they are screwed. The aim is to hit the meta-humans hard before they can use their powers in retaliation. "Safety's on boys. Do not shoot unless ordered. I repeat, do not shoot unless ordered…and do not shoot anyone on the fuckin' team."

Rooster laughs next to him.

"Target in four hundred meters on the left," Grant reports, clearly. Two black cars suddenly split off from the rest – taking a side-street and racing North. They appear barely seconds later as Rick's truck turns onto the designated road; blocking traffic at the top of the street.

"Son –" Waller says, suddenly, when they are barely seconds from the house. She's looking at Grant, her voice steely. "Get your weapon out."

The younger man all but glares, but reluctantly does as he's told. In one hand the kid holds his gun – the other hovers above the door-handle, ready to throw it open.

They screech to a halt outside a low-slung white house. Two shiny estate cars are parked on the driveway. Already out of the truck and moving, Rick storms up to the door. He bangs three times (out of the corner of his eye he sees the curtains at the window twitch) – and then yells: "A.R.G.U.S, open up!" Behind him, men are spreading out, creating a perimeter. Grant and Rooster are covering him, rifles pointed at the ground – but ready.

A.R.G.U.S.: the Advanced Research Group for Uniting Superhumans. It's a shit-ass name, and makes what Waller's doing sound a lot more benign and cuddly than it actually is. Most citizens won't have ever heard of it before, but the man inside will probably be able to guess why they're here.

There's a crash of breaking glass round the back of the house. "We've got a runner," Rick reports into the radio, calmly. "Take 'im down, guys."

* * *

Another week passes. The meta-humans they've been ID'ing have been of a relatively low threat level – according to Waller, at least. They've encountered a thief who could throw knives and the leader of a minor drug cartel who could turn people to ice…after they'd thawed out Tyler, the kid had had to have a pinkie finger and two toes amputated from hypothermia, something the guys found endlessly amusing.

Rick isn't so sure it's funny…what happens when they try and pick a fight with the wrong meta-human? He'd raised his concerns to Amanda Waller during debriefing once. She'd just fixed him with one of her patented look: blank, stern – not giving anything away.

"I have my contacts, Mr Flag," she'd replied, simply.

Sat next to him, Rooster had lent in confidentially – though his loud whisper had been anything but subtle. "That means she knows who Batman is," he'd inform him.

But Rick begins to wonder if in fact she _was_ looking for stronger meta-humans – and what the hell he and his team would do when they encountered them.

He also wonders when she'll leave them alone. They've rounded up fifteen criminal meta-human's in Florida, Georgia and Alabama already. No matter what Stucky says about there being more of the things on the streets, he can't believe there are many left. When the job's done, will Waller hop on a chopper back to DC; continue on to more states? Will she expect him and his squad to go with her?

He's delivered the results she asked for – he should at least get peace of mind when this is all over. In his private quarters Rick looks at himself in his bathroom mirror. He's always been pale, and the weeks in the sun haven't changed that. He's got a strip of sunburn across his forehead and on the back of his neck from playing basketball with the guys out in the barracks. There are bags under his eyes, but that's not new – he's not much of a sleeper, barely getting more than four, five hours a night.

He likes the idea of a break after this. Go back home to New York. He's thirty-five and his last long-term girlfriend was almost two years ago. Every time he logs onto facebook another one of his college buddies is getting married or having kids. Out in Afghanistan, romance had been the last thing on his mind. He'd come home and barely be able to focus…home hadn't felt like _home_ anymore. The dessert – the war – that's where he had belonged. That had been his reality. He'd done four tours and risen through the ranks to Colonel.

Crazy, that bullets whizzing past his head didn't faze him a bit, but Amanda fuckin' Waller could get under his skin so badly.

That night, he sits out on his porch quietly smoking a cigarette. It's midnight – too hot. Bugs congregate to the vaporlamp hanging above his head. He can see a little way off from the residential area that the lights in the offices are still on, despite the lateness of the hour. He wonders what kind of scheme they're cooking up in there now…Probably something that he and his team have to do all the dirty work and heavy lifting for.

Rick takes another drag from the cigarette, closing his eyes and savouring the feeling of the warm smoke in his lungs before he exhales once more. He's almost completely relaxed – almost sleepy – when the lamp above his head abruptly dies, pulling him back to alertness. And not just that – every light in the compound switches off. Power cut. The only light now is the orange glow from the butt of his cigarette.

He takes another drag, waiting quietly for the emergency generators kick in. In the event of a major power failure, army bases have on-site electricity separate from the national grid. But several minutes pass and nothing happens. He can hear soldiers on-duty beginning to run around, trying to fix the problem.

About half-an-hour later he goes inside, intending to phone up control and ask what's going on. But his mobile phone, which had been plugged in to charge, isn't coming on. He flips it and opens up the back: the battery's fried.

"What the hell?" he mutters. This kind of thing wouldn't happen in a normal power cut. It's like there's been some kind of electrical surge that's cut out the grid.

Of course, everything traces back to God-damn meta-humans now, and in the morning he's informed by Amanda Waller that the outage was likely caused by an enhanced, and had destroyed anything directly attached to a power supply for a five-mile radius. They'd pin-pointed the location to a small town on the Keys and Waller was confident she knew exactly who was behind it.

" _Doctor June Moone,_ " Rick enunciates, reading off the file Waller thrusts across the table towards him.

"We got a call in on the hotline from her a day ago, asking to register. She spooked and cancelled the call, but not before she gave us a name. We ran her social security – she lives in North Carolina, but her parent's house is in Florida. She made the call just over the Mexican border –" Waller spreads her hands as if to indicate that the rest is history. "We ran CCTV footage on her car's number plates at border control. We have the address.

Rick glances at the girl's profile for a moment. He looks up, pointedly, tapping a finger against the page. "She doesn't have a criminal record."

"We'd still like to check her out."

"You wanna bring her in?"

Waller shrugs. "We can hold her for twenty four hours. Legally…That's all the time I need."

Still, Rick doesn't like the idea of poaching some girl off the streets – even if she has caused a mass black out.

"Something wrong, Flag?" Waller asks, calmly.

He hesitates. He's been working with this woman for four weeks now. She never gives her own brief – but she's always hovering somewhere at the corner of the room. She never conducts her own arrest – but she's always sitting in the car waiting. She has never - as far as he can remember - actually explained the details of a target to him. Someone always does it for her; she either thinks she's too important, or she's got other shit to be doing. The only time Rick has ever seen Amanda Waller get her hands dirty is for the interrogations and deals themselves. Then she likes to be there: she likes to get the measure of the man or women in question. She likes to tell them where their own interests lie. She likes to show them how they can benefit themselves; benefit her.

She is calculating. She is smart.

Rick appreciates a lady who can get the job done as cleanly as possible. It sure makes his job a hell of a lot easier. But a clean job often means strings being pulled elsewhere beforehand…a well-placed bribe; a threat. It involves the police being bought off and told to stay away. The power lines to the house to be cut – so that when Rick and his men arrive at the door, all they have to do is kick it down.

"Flag?" Waller pushes again.

"No ma'am," he replies, shutting June Moone's folder. "Everythin's fine."

"Good," she stands from the desk in her office – Stucky's office – which has been stripped bare of everything save for the desk, two chairs and a thin laptop. On the windowsill is a bright orchid – an absurdly feminine touch for this cold, robotic woman. "You can drive me down to her house today. There's no need to bring your men."

"Ma'am?" he asks, surprised.

Her lips curve into a thin, sardonic smile. "What's wrong? I thought you'd be happy?"

He hesitates. "I am. I just thought you said this girl was strong."

"So pack a Glock."

"You think that'll be enough to make her come with us?" he asks, sceptically.

Waller walks over to the door, a coffee in one hand as she holds it open for him. She nods her head, indicating for him to follow her through. "We'll ask nicely," she deadpans.

He could've sworn he saw her wink and he shakes his head as he follows her out of the building. He just can't seem to figure this lady out.

He drives her to the identified village on the coast. The journey lasts forty minutes, and the silence between them gets real awkward after just five. Rick taps his fingers against the steering wheel and shifts in his seat every now and then, rolling his shoulders to relieve some of the tension. Amanda Waller is still, unfazed. She's sat in the backseat like he's her god-damn chauffeur.

He can feel his Glock pressed into his lower back – cold and dense – from where he's stuffed it into the waistband of his jeans. It's early morning and slightly cooler than usual – a few thin grey clouds obscuring the dull sky.

He parks up on the road outside the directed house and kills the engine, twisting to look over his shoulder at Waller expectantly.

"Now what?"

She looks up from her phone, from where she's been tapping out a message. "Go get the girl," she replies, blankly – as if it were obvious.

He raises both eyebrows. "I'm sorry…what?"

"Go get her, Flag," Waller repeats slowly, as if talking to an infant child; she doesn't look up from the screen. "Or are you not man enough without all your dip and your gear to bring her in?"

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, irritated, and stares blindly out the windscreen for a moment. "You know," he says, finally, as he pops the car door open. "I'm not your errand boy."

She doesn't respond – clearly she thinks Rick is whoever she needs him to be – and he slams the door behind him a little harder than necessary. He's riled up; irritated. There's a difference between following constructive orders and being pulled around like a dog on a leash. He's a trained soldier, and doesn't appreciate being made to feel like a school boy.

The house in front of him is shaded by several gigantic hedges and trees. There's a small, messy yard that's more sand than grass and he walks up the few wooden steps to the front door and knocks. The door swings open at his touch, unlocked.

He checks inside and listens. Empty. The rooms are almost pitch black, despite the fact that it's day time – but that's probably due to the fact that every electrical item from here to about four miles in either direction is fried. Nothing moves. Rick turns and looks back over to the yard to where the car is parked, debating, then walks back down the steps and round to the back of the house cautiously. The front door wouldn't be open if there wasn't anyone in.

Round the house is a small beach fringed with shrubbery. It's exposed to the wind, and catching what little sunlight there is in the sky. His attention is immediately drawn to a figure dragging a kayak out of the shallows and up onto the sand. The beach is small and she can barely be meters away from him, but even with her back turned he knows instantly that this is the girl Waller wants. Her long brown hair is tangled and keeps catching in the wind and she's wearing a small, emerald green bikini. Rick decides to go over before staring gets too weird.

"Doctor Moone?" he asks, his feet slipping on the coarse, white sand as he approaches.

The girl drops the kayak with a jump and turns to face him. She's young; far too young to be a doctor of anything. He's startled by the contradictions of her features: the feminine, bow-shaped lips and cat-like blue eyes the colour of a glass flame contrasted with strong, heavy brows. Her body is thin and all sharp angles. Almost tomboyish.

She folds her arms tightly against the chill air, her shoulders slightly hunched. He can physically see the goosebumps erupt across her skin. Her posture is defensive. Suspicious. He doesn't blame her. "Who are you? And what the hell are you doing on my family's property?" she demands.

Rick shifts his weight on his feet. It's hard to be professional when he has no idea what it is he's supposed to say. Normally he just handcuffs the criminals or hits them over the head really, really hard. Waller should be doing this. He feels like an idiot. "We have reason to believe you caused the national grid failure last night."

Her arms tighten round herself even further. She shivers. "We?"

"The government."

"How do you know it was me that caused the power cut?" He realises that she's not denying it: she's actually curious.

He resists the urge to roll his eyes. The girl's not stupid, but she's naive: She has no idea how far A.R.G.U.S reaches; what they can do. "You made a phone call. We traced it; got CCTV footage of your car going through the Mexican border…One phone call and we know everything there is to know about you." He watches her for some kind of reaction. Intimidation comes more easily to him – his voice is rough, belligerent – over compensating for his uncertainty - but he can't see her expression. She ducks her head, her face hidden by her hair, and walks further up the beach to a small pile of clothes. He lets his hand rest on the gun at his back, hidden by his shirt. He's got a fast draw – he knows he can shoot her if she makes one wrong move – but he's also unsure. Technically, this girl isn't a threat; Waller's just curious. And he has no idea how to respond to that fact.

He watches her step into a pair of tiny, frayed denim shorts. They're too short. It occurs to him how much younger than him she is; maybe ten years. He averts his gaze from her re-dressing like he's seeing something indecent – keeping his eyes fixed on a spot somewhere over her shoulder.

"What do you want with me?" she asks, stiffly. "You wanna register me? Ask me how I cut the power? I don't know. I can't tell you." She tucks a crew-neck, white T Shirt into the shorts and begins to buckle up her belt. She sounds almost frustrated – bitter. Her movements are jerky with a supressed anger as she bends down to gather her things into her arms. When she straightens her voice is softer. Her eyes search his. "I'm sorry…but I doubt I'd be much help."

He merely shrugs his shoulders by way of response. It doesn't matter. Either way, Waller wants her.

At the gesture, her mouth presses itself into a flat line and she runs a hand through her hair. She seems to be debating something internally, and Rick waits patiently for her to think it through. She's a smart girl: she knows how this will go. "Fine," June says, exhaling heavily. "Just…just give me a second."

He watches her hasten back into the house, his hand still hovering over his gun. He listens closely for a sound of a door slamming – keeps half an eye on the front yard in case she makes a break for it. Instead she returns, clutching a few pieces of paper in her hand. Before he can see what they are she folds the wad into quarters and stuffs it into her back pocket.

"Whatever questions you want to ask me," she says walking straight up to him so that they stand toe-to-toe. "I can I assure you I _don't_ have the answers." She hasn't got the strongest voice – it's mousy, low. He uses the close contact to look at her curiously. What did she just put in her pocket? And...now that he's thinking about it... why had she suddenly caved and decided to come with him? Her face is tight and closed off. He mentally shakes his head. It doesn't matter - his job is to get her from A to B - and he side-steps her easily, brushing her off like you would a child.

"That's cute," he comments, dryly. "But I'm just the delivery boy. I ain't involved in any of this."

How he wishes that statement were more true.

"Then if it's not you, then who-?" June asks, trying to catch up with him.

"Amanda Waller. Listen - don' look her in the eye, she doesn't like that," he tells her, as she follows him out onto the road where the car is. But he catches the wide-eyed expression on the girl's face and sighs, opening the car door to the back seat - Waller partly concealed by shadows on the other side.

"I'm joking."

She doesn't look convinced, recoiling from the car like he's just shown her a pit of venomous snakes. Which, he figures, he kind of has.

He takes one look at June Moone's slight frame and thinks, with a degree of sympathy, that Waller will eat her alive.

* * *

 **A/N** So, what do you think of their first interaction? (Sorry it took such a long time in coming, I know five chapters is quite a long time to wait!)

Thank you also for all your continued support. I'm glad you're enjoying the details I'm throwing into the story - I always think it helps to make the characters seem more developed and complex and in the long run it gives the love between them more depth.

Please continue to **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N** Just a heads up, but unfortunately I will be unable to update for a while after this chapter. (A while for me is about a week haha!)

* * *

 **WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 6**

* * *

 _ **June**_

"Miss Moone – Amanda Waller."

The woman introduces herself to June smoothly, but there's an amused quirk to her lips as if she knows something June doesn't. The thought makes June reflexively look at the man next to her – unsettled, as if this could possibly be a trap – but his expression gives nothing away. He jerks his head at the seat next to Waller's.

"Get in."

But June continues to stall. "Where are you taking me?" she asks, cautiously.

He has his arms folded on top of the door, his chin resting on his hands. He looks bored. June wonders if he ever smiles. Instead of replying he merely tilts his head pointedly towards the car; it's clear both he and the woman inside are used to getting their own way.

"Where are you taking me?" she presses again – but she's already getting into the car and the man is slamming the door after her.

"We're using a US army base not far from here as headquarters." The woman called Amanda Waller informs her, without looking in June's direction. She has one elbow rested against the base of the window as she stares outside. The car begins to move. "You have nothing to worry about."

"Why –"

"I said you have nothing to worry about," Waller repeats, abruptly turning to face June with one eyebrow raised - as if daring her to speak again. "So you don't have a problem."

June shuts her mouth with a snap and the car plunges into silence.

She tells herself that she made the choice to be here.

If she registers as a meta-human, these people can keep an eye on her. They can stop her from hurting anyone. They might even be able to figure out how to…cure…her. She _needs_ their help. But June can't help but think that help isn't what they're offering. They think she caused the power cut – which she did – but they don't know the whole story. They think she's a meta-human…and a strong one.

She twists her hands in her lap nervously. What will they do when she tells them the truth? What if they think she's crazy, like Harley Quinn? It's not as if she can prove she's being possessed. They only have her word. She could end up in an asylum.

June takes a deep breath and catches Amanda Waller glancing at her fidgeting hands out of the corner of her eye. She unlocks her fingers hastily, abruptly all too aware of the woman's calculating gaze and her own body language. She wonders how much she's already given away unconsciously, without saying anything, and sits up straighter.

The army base is only a little under an hour's drive away, but still secluded from the rest of society. Exotic looking palm trees and trees with bright pink flowers conceal most of the high, brick walls and barbed wire fences. They are waved past a checkpoint and down a dirt track into the main barracks, which are a hive of activity. June tries to ignore what's going on around her and keeps her gaze firmly trained on Amanda Waller; she doesn't want to look away – or turn her back - on the woman for a second.

They pull in to a small parking lot round the back of the tallest building – an office block – and the three of them hop out of the car. On June's right is a parched track and field and on her left is another, low slung dusty building that could be a mess hall; there's a strong, mouth-watering smell of cooking meat coming from it.

"Wait here." Waller seems to be instructing the man as much as June. She looks between the pair of them carefully and, apparently satisfied that they will both obey, she turns on her heel and walks off across the parking lot.

June takes the moment alone to subtly observe the tall man next to her. She notices that like most of the soldiers she can see he looks unhappy about the people in suits who stride round the base in small clusters, folders or some form of paperwork usually clutched under their arms. A lot of them wear ear pieces and have a lanyard on with a logo she doesn't recognise; too small to make out. But while most of the soldiers look mistrustful, the man next to her is merely irritable. He's tall, and an odd mixture of well-groomed and rugged. And not the designer stubble rugged, but the I-can-sleep-rough-for-three-weeks rugged. Dangerous. She remembers from the beach the gravelly voice that sounds as if he recently swallowed an entire pack of cigarettes. As if to prove her theory correct he decides to smoke whilst they wait. He takes a pack out from his jacket pocket and lights one up, using a hand to shield the flame from the slight wind.

They're quiet for a few moments when he suddenly speaks. "You haven't done anything wrong," he tells her, exhaling a line of smoke. He's not looking at June – his gaze fixed on the direction Amanda Waller walked off in. "Just tell them what they want to know and they'll let you go."

The sky is groily – grey – and June shivers in the cool air. "Thanks for the advice," she mutters. Sarcastic: a front.

"Take it or leave it, sweetheart," he tells her, rolling his eyes as he takes another drag from his cigarette. "I really don' care."

If June's being honest with herself, she's scared about their questions. She doesn't want to admit to _herself_ how far this goes, yet alone to Amanda Waller. She remembers the woman's calculating stare, as if she can see right through June's skin and flesh and to whatever's inside of her. Her hooded, dark gaze reminds June of the pit. She gets the feeling Waller understands the nature and depth of the darkness lodged in her a lot better than she does.

The soldier sees Amanda Waller coming, flanked by two of her own men, before she does and he discards the end of his smoke, grinding it into the ground with his heel. June jumps when he claps a hand down on her shoulder heavily – the force of it reverberating through her entire body. "See you on the other side, Doc."

She's surprised by the way her stomach twists unpleasantly at his words. "You're not coming with me?" she asks, too quickly. She doesn't know who he is, really, but she can tell he doesn't adhere to whatever agenda it is these people have. It would have been nice to have an ally of sorts…wherever it is they plan to take her.

His gaze properly meets hers for the first time – taking in the panic tightening the skin round her eyes. He glances between her and Waller and though he's squinting, she thinks she can detect sympathy in the lines on his face. Despite his previous statement, she thinks he cares more than he likes to let on. "Nah – but I'll be here when you get out." His voice is gentler – a promise. His hand slips from her shoulder. She hadn't realised he was still touching her and the loss of human contact makes her feel more alone than ever.

"Miss Moone," Waller calls. "Today, please."

She grits her teeth at the demanding woman but promptly stalks over to her anyway without a backward glance, trying to ignore the imposing bodyguards. This is why she's here – this is what she came for.

Still, June can't help but hesitate when she's lead towards a deceptively small building – over-looked and inconspicuous in the residential area. The door is a thick heavy metal – opened with a six-pin entry code and a security pass. When it opens she finds herself on the top step of a dark, gloomy stairwell leading down to a basement; at the bottom a dimly lit corridor, more shadows than light.

Her throat constricts. The thought of going below ground is worse than unpalatable – it's inconceivable: the memory of the filthy young girl locked in the cell flits through her mind; her face turned hungrily up to the sunlight. June's vision slips and moves – the stairs are abruptly lined with skulls. Then they're swarming with spiders. Her stomach sickens.

"Not a fan of enclosed spaces?" Waller asks her, the now familiar half-smile touching her features. Her voice echoes off the wall as she begins to make her way down the stairs. June reluctantly follows the older woman – crowded down by the two guards. "I get it. Having four walls around you with no way out…it makes your palms sweat. Gives most people the heebie-jeebies. But don't worry. We have air conditioning."

It's true. The stagnant air in the corridor is strangely cool – almost clammy. As June is led down the hall she pauses, her eyes focusing on a large emblem on the wall. It's a round circle – half red and half blue, with three symbols: a cube, a helix of DNA and the Vitruvian man. Any historian would recognise it: the most famous drawing of Leonardo di Vinci. A man in two positions superimposed one atop of the other – arms and legs spread-eagled. Da Vinci had believed the workings of the human body to be an analogy for the essential balance of all things in the universe: light and dark, good and evil. June had liked the concept – once. Now the image seemed to her almost demonic – a being impossibly maimed and contorted. Though she had no idea what A.R.G.U.S could possibly stand for, she easily reads the Latin beneath.

"Our search begins," she translates, looking at Waller, who is already opening a door into another room.

She's impassive and unresponsive. "Like I said, we just want to ask you some questions."

There's the heavy _clang_ as the metal door shuts at the top of the stairs, and then a _bleep_ as an electric current seals it. She's stuck in here until they decide to let her out.

The interrogation room is basic in the extreme. A table made of reinforced steel and welded to the cement floor, two chairs and three walls. The fourth wall is made of black glass: a one way window. June notices the handcuffs tightly secured by chains to the table – to her relief no one attempts to put them on her.

Waller settles into the chair opposite June's: her blood red suit the only splash of colour in the grey room. The guards position themselves by the door quietly.

"Okay…so…I know this is going to sound crazy –" June rushes out, her nervousness making her talk too fast as she launches into trying to explain herself.

" - Trust me, I've seen a lot of crazy shit doing this job," Waller cuts in, dryly. She clicks a ball point pen and opens the file in front of her. Next to her a laptop is emitting a dim glow, but June can't see the screen. Waller moves slowly – calmly; giving the impression she has done this many, many times before.

"No you haven't," June replies, flatly, irritated at the other woman brushing her off. "Not like this."

Waller ignores her, not looking up from the file as she skims it. "We're going to go through a few basic details and then we'll hand you over to medical. They'll take your blood type and run a couple of standard tests." Her pen poises over a page. June can make out a picture of her face lifted from her passport upside down. "When did you start exhibiting your powers?"

"Two days ago."

A pause. This is not what she expected. "Excuse me?"

June lifts her chin slightly, defiant in the face of the other woman's surprise. "Are you going to listen to me now?" she challenges.

Waller settles her pen down next to the file with care and looks at June closely for the first time. She steeples her fingers in front of her for a moment, thinking. "I specialise in bringing in dangerous criminals with special abilities…" She says slowly, finally. "They all try to run, but we get them in the end. I should have realised…when you came quietly." She calculates the shift expertly and adjusts. "What is it you want from us, June?"

To her credit, June doesn't skip a beat. "Your help," she replies, rummaging in her pocket and drawing out the folded, crumpled images of the cave paintings. "I'm an archaeologist. Two days ago I was exploring a temple in Mexico. It's old. Maybe as old as the Ancient Greeks – we haven't dated the remains we found there yet. I was alone, and I fell down a pit in one of the chambers." June stands and lays the papers out in front Waller who looks at them each in turn with a blank expression on her face. "In the cave I found these paintings. We don't know what they are yet, but we know they tell the story of a magical princess called Dzmor. Then, when I was in a local village, the children told me about a beautiful empress that roamed the hills."

Amanda Waller sits back in her chair. "And why should I care about a fairy tale?"

"Because every myth has a grain of truth…. Romulus and Remus – the tower of Babel. People embellish these stories over the centuries. They add to them. But then you start to see a pattern – you see the repetitions – the message." The back of her neck itches as if someone is watching her, close enough to breathe on her skin. She wishes that there was daylight down here, or some kind of fresh air, but ploughs on, regardless. "Dzmor was real. _Is_ real…I know this sounds crazy, but when I was down in that cave something was alive in there. It entered me – or it's possessed me. I don't know." She stops abruptly, her hurried words followed by a long silence. Waller still has her hands clasped in front of her mouth so that June can't read her expression. Her heart flutters uneasily and she can feel sweat gathering on her hairline. She's doing a bad job of explaining. It all sounds so stupid. So insane. " – you have to believe me –" she tries, but Amanda lowers a hand like a guillotine, pressing a finger into the table.

"This…thing. It survives thousands of years without a body. How?"

"I don't know," June replies, frustrated. Did Amanda Waller really think if she knew how this all worked, she'd be sitting in front of her right now? "That's what I want to find out: what happened."

"And the power cut. That was it? Not you."

"Yes."

"It can act through you?"

"…When it wants to. Yes."

June can physically see the woman rearrange her perspective. Anticipate new answers and possibilities. "Why?" she questions, finally.

June blinks at her and she clarifies.

"Why cut the power?"

"I'm not sure..." her throat is abruptly dry, like sandpaper. "…Whatever it wants it's sentient and…and it's learning. It can think for itself…I can't control what happens." She leans across the table, earnest. "Look. I know history. I can figure this out – I know I can. But in the meantime you know meta-humans, and you know how to… _contain_ them. I _need_ help with this. Before I hurt someone. _Please_."

Waller hums under her breath, apparently massively unconcerned by June's last words. She then stands abruptly, shuffling the papers together and handing them over to a guard.

" _Hey!_ –" June protests.

"Make copies of these," the other woman instructs, ignoring her. "Bring the originals back to this room. Get me the co-ordinates for that temple and the Architectural Institute on the line. I want an expert here by Wednesday, latest." The man nods and leaves the room.

The back of June's neck is prickling again – the feeling stronger than before. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes darting about the confined space. Is it just her, or do the walls feel closer? The ceiling lower?

"Miss Moone?" Waller addresses her and she grits her teeth, trying to focus. This isn't the time to be spinning out of control. "I'd like to run some standard medical checks. Its procedure…we'll see what comes up."

June finds herself complying. The intellectual in her is intrigued to see her own results. She went into that cave entirely human and came out…changed. She knows that on a microscopic level – smaller than cellular – she's different. But Waller's team of doctors spend hours taking blood samples, analysing them; measuring her heart rate and her stress hormones – they even run an MRI scan. Nothing.

When she's returned to the interrogation room much later, she feels oddly feverish. The shadows seem to heave around her. The air even cooler on her over-heated skin. There's a strange ringing in her ears – an incessant, high-pitched _eeeeeeee_ – that makes it hard to concentrate. She needs to concentrate.

She tries to focus on Amanda Waller, sat in the same chair – the original scans of June's cave paintings in front of her as promised – but finds that the woman seems to blur strangely. June blinks once as a test: Waller stays blurred, and she's definitely wearing her contact lenses.

"Anything?" the older woman asks the doctors behind June.

One of them shakes their head. "Nothing. All normal. No DNA markers. She's not meta – human. By our definition, at least."

Hands press onto her shoulders, forcing June to sit in the free chair. The buzzing in her ears is becoming annoying. Like a radio badly out of frequency "I'm not lying," she protests, angrily. "I'm telling the truth."

Amanda Waller stands from her seat and moves round the table to look down at June, her eyes considering. "Maybe we should keep her down here longer," she decides, finally. "Run some more tests. Keep trying until something comes up."

The effect is instantaneous. Like a rubber band snapping, June's vision abruptly sharpens, like she's seeing for the first time. She feels as if she can see through Waller. Through A.R.G.U.S.

The feeling of being watched, the stress of being interrogated bubbles up in her along with rage and fear – so potent it threatens to choke her.

There's a rush of memory. The filthy, ugly girl - keening. Begging. A four wall prison – built up around her. The brick inches thick. The only light comes through a barred chink no bigger than a sewer drain. _Please Papa! Please let me out! PLEASE!_

The man speaks over his daughter's begging. His voice cold and unyielding.

 _Monsters should not be free._

" _NO_!" June's screech is inhumanly loud – probably heard for miles. Without her touching it, the thick, steel table – which has been welded to the ground – is torn free; some, immense power hurls it across the room where it smashes through the one-way mirror. Had Waller not moved round the table, she would have been crushed.

As if they have been waiting for this exact moment, the guards lift their rifles and train them on her. She stands and looks at the hole in the wall, shaking. The dust begins to settle – broken wires spark with electricity. The people who have been standing on the other side begin to pick themselves up, coughing in the wreckage.

June covers her mouth, her breathing shallow and panicky. She's not sure what scares her more: how close she nearly came to killing someone. Or the fact that that hadn't been her.

She looks past the guards and their guns, straight to Amanda Waller. There's a strange gleam in her eye. Satisfied - like a cat who has finally got the cream. Had she been waiting for this all along?

* * *

 **A/N**

Thank you, guys, for all your continuing support. Your comments and thoughts really do mean a lot to me.

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	7. Chapter 7

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 7**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

After Doctor Moone is led away, Rick walks slowly over to the mess hall. He's not hungry, but he knows that's where his team will be – along with most of the other soldiers at the base. The cafeteria is packed – blocks of dark blue uniforms and green camouflage gathered around tables. A.R.G.U.S normally sit with their own: to them the soldiers are nothing more than hired guns.

Rooster, Grant, Tyler and Hutch are sat around a table in the outside area; they're joking about the new equipment they're squad have been provided with by the government. The best of the best: more precise thermal imaging technology, infrared aiming attached to their rifles…and a tank.

"What the _shit_ do we need a tank for," Tyler is laughing. "Just in case the metas want a tank fight?"

"Wouldn'ta fuckin' helped when we brought in that guy who could walk through shit," Rooster agrees, tapping some of the loose ash from his cigarette into the tray at the centre of the table. "Nearly crapped my pants, bro. Good thing I had you covering me otherwise I'd be -" he mimes drawing a finger across his throat.

"Waste of money. Meta wants us dead, tank ain't gonna do shit," Grant throws in, scowling behind his sunglasses. He stabs at his lunch with a fork.

Rick takes a free seat and sets his coffee down in front of him. "You think we can send it back, Rick?" Rooster asks him, smirking. "Cash it in for a few dollars. Retire on the refund."

The rest of the guys crack up and Rick shakes his head – as ever the voice of reason. "They sent this stuff for a reason. These people are a lot stronger than us. We gotta use what we have."

"Come onnnn," Rooster shoots back, unconcerned. "It's a _tank_ Flag. My own two fists would be more useful than that thing. It's big, and it's flashy and it can't aim for shit."

"Where've you been, anyway?" Grant cuts in, eyeing Rick with interest. He watches the other man nurse his coffee, a preoccupied look on his face. "She got you running private missions now or something?" 'She' is Amanda Waller: Grant doesn't like referring to her by name if he can help it.

"Something like that," he replies, nonchalant. He takes a sip from his coffee.

But his apparent lack of concern seems to strike a chord in the other man, who leans across the table and hisses in a frustrated undertone: "Rick - Tyler's lost a coupla' fingers. Rooster almost got shot in the back of the friggin' head! And I mean, who the fuck knows what they did with Stucky! Haven't seen him around in a while – have you?...She doesn't care what happens to us. But you're just sat there like 'nah, it's cool'."

Everyone around the table has fallen silent, though Grant has spoken quietly enough that the people around them don't hear. Rooster watches Rick and Grant unblinkingly. Tyler keeps his eyes down and pretends to pick at his food. Hutch fiddles with his wedding ring. Rick can tell, instinctively, that they've all had this conversation before – without him. And they're waiting for his answer.

He abruptly feels bone tired. He rubs a hand across his eyes, feeling a headache coming on. "Look, I never said I was okay with any of this. I never said I trusted her," he says, finally. "But my hands are tied."

But Grant shakes his head. "All the expensive, high-tech gear in the world isn't going to help us, man – and you know it. Pretty soon, one of us is going to get killed. We're expendable to her."

Grant's right. Of course he's right: Rick himself has thought this. He surveys each of the guys round the table in turn. They're good men. The best at what they do…they shouldn't be being treated as dispensable foot soldiers. His eyes fall on Tyler's right hand, where the kid's missing two fingers. "Listen. If you don't trust her, then trust _me_ ," he says, bluntly. "I can't promise you that none of you will die on my watch. People get killed. Things happen. We all know that. But I can promise you I'll have your backs. I'll take care of you. You're not alone out there." He folds his arms and leans back in his chair, looking them each in the eye sternly. "…But don't fuckin' mistake me: we are putting our lives at risk, yeah - but that's so we can get these fuckers behind bars instead of watching them tear cities apart on CNN." Grant twitches next to him, but doesn't say anything. "So quit the bitching and quit the whining. You're Special Forces, not ten year old girls. Got me?"

"Yessir," Hutch and Tyler mumble. Grant nods once, curtly, and Rooster raises his beer slightly in a mock toast.

They fall silent and Rick takes another gulp of coffee. It scalds his throat, but he can barely taste it. Part of him wishes mutinously that he'd never heard of A.R.G.U.S, but another part of him knows that what he's said is true: without their work, there would be chaos. A.R.G.U.S come in and they stir the pot - the meta's get scared and start making mistakes. Start throwing their own under the bus. It was only the way to make a difference - a _real_ difference against the criminal super-human. The enhanced.

Rick drains the rest of his coffee and sets the empty Styrofoam cup down on the table. He wonders how June Moone is doing. Personally, he's never been down to the creepy, underground basement they take them into - he doesn't have the security clearance. Amanda Waller's very good at compartmentalizing. He hopes they let the girl go quickly. _Intent_ to do harm is everything – the thing that gets you prosecuted - and he didn't get the feeling she was going to join an underground crime ring any time soon.

As if the kid has somehow recently developed the ability to read means, Tyler smirks across the table at him. "So," he grins, pulling apart his bread roll with his fingers and popping a piece in his mouth. "Who was the girl? The one you drove in with?...She the one that caused the power cut last night?"

"Yep," Rick replies, succinctly – hoping they'll drop the line of conversation quickly. He can tell by their taunting smirks that they won't. Tyler's always had a special gift for perking the guys up when they're low – but the kid often tends to do it at someone's expense. This time it's Rick's.

"She was hot, man!" Tyler goads, digging his elbow into his ribs hard.

"Yeah and she's about half my age," he snaps – defensive – as he shoves the other man's arm away.

"Is she over twenty?" Rooster asks, pointing at him with his beer. "Because if she is you can totally hit that."

He throws him a glare. "Nice."

"Hey dude. Your hay-day is coming to an end. You're not a male model like Edwards over here –" (Grant glares) "- I mean, you're a good-lookin' fella, Rick – don't get me wrong – but your ship is sailing bro. If you wanna settle down, you gotta start looking for a woman."

Rick tries to deflect, rolling his eyes. "I thought you advocated, er, what was it? Not entering the black-hole of marriage or something like that," he says, smirking at the thirty-seven year old divorcee.

Rooster holds up his hands. "I regret nothing. I'm free. I am a free man. Sandy did me a favour. But you need to get your head out of your ass."

"Oh, _I_ need to get his head out of his ass?" Rick taunts Rooster, pointing to himself.

By way of response the other man merely throws his empty beer can at Rick's head.

* * *

The Doc isn't released until late in the afternoon. Rick's waiting for them in the parking lot and strides forward impatiently when he sees them coming. He's been there long enough to work his way through three cigarettes and walk eight laps round the building and all the loitering is starting to drive him crazy.

"You done?" he asks Waller, quickly assessing his surroundings. Something's changed: the two, grim looking guards have their rifles out but their safety's on. The girl herself looks pale and mildly freaked out, but essentially unharmed. His gaze lingers on Amanda Waller: there's a self-satisfied look on her face that tells him whatever she wanted from June, she got it.

"We're done. Take her home."

The guards step aside like a pair of curtains opening and June slips between them, wraith-like, to Rick's side. To his surprise she hesitates and looks at Waller. "I'll be in touch," she promises.

The other woman hardly bats an eye. "Make sure of it."

"Thank you." June holds out her hand for Waller to shake. "For everything." Rick squints sharply as if someone has punched him in the stomach. This is the last thing he'd expected: he'd anticipated Amanda Waller to crush her. Break her down. Instead it looks as if June Moone managed to cut some kind of deal. He half-smiles at that, surprised.

June clambers up into the passenger seat of the massive jeep whilst he hops into the driver's side, starting the engine. As they drive away he checks his rear-view mirror. Waller stands on the asphalt, watching them go – her expression unreadable. Grant was right: you were important to her right up until the day you weren't. Expendable. He hopes June knows that.

He glances at the girl out of the corner of his eye. It's started to rain gently – the grey clouds finally splitting and spilling. The Keys – which look so much like paradise – abruptly seem gritty and threatening in the drizzle. The tall, beautiful trees either side of the dirt track turn wild, becoming impossibly snarled and tangled. They're both quiet as they pull up to the checkpoint. Rick flashes his security pass and they're waved through.

"You okay?" he asks, eventually. The girl hasn't spoken, but he notices that she's chewing on her lip – obviously thinking about something intently. "You seem a little….wound up."

She starts at the sound of his voice, then shakes her head quickly. "Huh? Oh! No. I'm fine." She plasters a smile onto her face. "Thanks for…waiting for me." She looks as if she wants to say something else – something more, but doesn't. She's a shitty liar. She returns to staring out of the window and he grunts under his breath, unsure of what else to say. He wants to ask what happened to her – what she told Waller, but it's none of his business. He continues to drive, but continues to glance at her every now and then.

She's got her bare legs tucked up underneath her like a kid would. She'd been wearing makeup when they first met, he realises, and there's now black smudged around her eyes; her freckles more prominent where the foundation has slipped in the humidity. It's been a while since he's noticed this kind of thing, but he can't help but notice it now...the soft femininity a stark contrast to his life in the army.

"So here's the thing," he says, making another attempt to break her out of her shell. He's curious about her – for so many different reasons – but decides to start with the simplest question: "How does someone your age have a PhD?"

"My age?" June looks at him, a slight smile hovering about her mouth as she accuses, lightly: "You did your homework."

"I can explain," he defends, smirking despite himself.

"Uhuh? Enlighten me."

"I read your file." He sees her wrinkle her nose in his periphery and chuckles, not taking his eyes off the road. The dirt track has long since re-joined civilization and they're driving over one of the many bridges connecting the string of tropical islands. It would have been pretty if it weren't raining – the sea a dead, lifeless grey. "I don't make a habit of going into missions blind," he explains. "I wouldn't be very good at what I do if I did."

"Right," June says, abruptly mono-syllabic. When he looks over she has a weird expression on her face – chagrined? Guilty? He wonders what he said wrong. "You think I…caused the power cut," she says eventually, blowing out a heavy sigh.

"Which you did."

"Yes," she agrees. "But it's not because I'm a meta-human….It's because I'm being possessed by a seven-thousand-year-old witch. I'm being haunted." She looks out the window briefly and then back at him, trying to tag on a poor show of humour: " _Tech-ni-cally_ ," she enunciates, _"_ that actually wasn't me."

He tears his eyes from the road, jerking his head round to look at the girl sat next to him. There's a plethora of emotions drawn tight on her face: embarrassment, trepidation, nervousness. She watches him too carefully, measuring his reaction. His mind's gone strangely blank, but he knows he doesn't want to upset her by behaving like she's some kind of freak.

"That's messed up."

She rolls her eyes. "I don't need to be told that."

"How – how long has that been, exactly -?" he asks, trying to act nonchalant. He shouldn't be surprised. He's seen some crazy shit since joining A.R.G.U.S - he just doesn't want to tell June that her thing makes all that look like cake-walk. _Seven-thousand years_ he mouths to himself, rubbing his hand across his upper lip so she can't see his expression. You couldn't make this crap up.

He can't hide in his eyes or in his voice how stunned he is, however, and June folds her arms tightly, her mouth turning down at the corners. "There's an old temple deep in the Lacandon Jungle in Mexico. I took two weeks out from work and went exploring. Two days ago I opened something I probably shouldn't have…it could have happened to anyone." She's oddly defensive and Rick can't help but chuckle – it's clear by the look she throws him that she doesn't see the humour in the situation.

"What's so funny?" (It turned out that when you got through the awkward, mousy outer-shell, the Doc was pretty touchy.) To be fair, he figures she's entitled to it.

"How many people do you think voluntarily go trekking through jungles looking for undiscovered ruins?" He asks, glancing at her. "Listen. I ain't saying you deserved it, but c'mon. It could've only happened to you."

She rolls her eyes, re-arranging herself so that she has one leg tucked underneath her and the other stretched out. "Has anyone ever told you your pep talks suck?"

"I normally just tell my men not to die. It works most of the time."

"In this situation, I don't think I can make any promises," June mutters under her breath, bleakly, and Rick looks at her sharply – all traces of laughter from the conversation gone. She fidgets. The only sound now is the patter of the rain on the windows and the chug of the windscreen wipers. They make it a whole ten minutes without talking before June's stomach rumbles loudly. He tries to politely ignore it, but then a few minutes later it gurgles again, even more incessantly. He glances at her, amused despite himself, to see her blushing and clutching her stomach.

"I guess I'm pretty hungry," she notes.

He raises an eyebrow, making a quick decision. It's way past lunch and he hasn't eaten much today either. "You know, we can stop and get something to eat if you want?"

She opens her mouth – clearly about to say no – when her stomach rumbles again. "Okay…that would be…good," she agrees, cautiously.

The diner they pull up outside of is just off the main-road; a squat, red brick building with awning spouting waterfalls of rain-water at unexpected intervals. The car's huge tires splash as they pull up in the parking lot – by now skiddy after hours of constant drizzle.

Neither of them have jackets with hoods and rain puddles splash up their legs as they sprint into the café. Inside, Rick shakes out his wet hair like a dog. June, in her T Shirt and shorts, her wet hair plastered to her head, is shivering violently by the time they get seated at a table. When the waitress brings over his beer and her coffee, she wraps her hands tightly round the mug and inhales the steam – exhaling it out with a contented sigh of relief.

Rick watches her carefully, taking a pull from his beer absentmindedly. He couldn't quite figure June out. The girl in some ways seemed very young – she was tragically naïve about the darker areas of this word – but in other ways she was tougher than he would've originally guessed. Sharp, too. She was a fighter, and he wouldn't have pegged her as one.

"So," he says, eventually. "The power-cut….looks like Brumhilda can pack a punch."

It's the wrong thing to say: June doesn't respond, but something about her shoulders tense and she scowls down at the menu between them, pointedly ignoring him. Maybe he should steer clear of mentioning her supernatural problem for now.

Rick rests his elbows on the table, surveying the rest of the customers in the diner. It wasn't busy, but it wasn't empty, either. There were a few young families gathered round tables with tacky, red and white checkered plastic table cloths: the kind that were always sticky with spilt food no matter how many times they were wiped down. He finds himself automatically scanning for exits and locating the areas that will provide cover before he can shake himself out of it. He's trying to break the exhausting habit, but it's not going easy. "You know, you never answered my question," he comments, finally, trying to distract himself. "How do you have a PhD?"

"I worked my ass off for four years," she grumbles, her voice still sour from before. "And I'll probably have it taken off me when I get back to work anyway, so the whole thing was probably a _fucking_ waste of time." She flips a page on the menu so violently it sounds as if it's about to rip.

"Self-pity ain't an attractive look, sweetheart," he drawls, waving down the waitress so that they can order food.

June lets out a huff of breath and folds her arms tightly, sitting back in her chair. Tense as anything. They both order burgers with a side of fries, and when the waitress leaves, there's about half a second where she looks at him, angry, before she sighs, the steely façade breaking. "You're right," she runs a hand through her long, damp hair, which is beginning to dry and curl at the ends. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't be taking this out on you…" He shrugs and she leans forwards across the table, wincing slightly as she says: "God, this is so bad, but I never asked your name."

Despite how apologetic she is, he's not bothered. "It's Rick," he informs her, dryly.

"OK, Rick. I'm…sorry for being such a bitch. I'll just…shut up. Now."

"You don't have to do that," he comments, glancing at her for the briefest of seconds before he looks away again, surveying the room once more.

He can feel her looking at him closely - as if he's suddenly going to announce that there's a string attached - but after a while she smiles slightly. "…OK."

This time the silence between them is more comfortable. They both occupy themselves with looking out the window – watching the asphalt car park gradually turn into an extremely shallow lake. Rick finds himself looking at her often. He wonders if he'll see her again. He knows it's likely: Waller wanted her for a reason, and it's doubtful she'll just let the Doctor go on her merry way. On the other hand, the thought of someone like Amanda Waller having anything to do with someone like June Moone makes him feel like he has an inch he can't scratch.

They're food is delivered to them in little red baskets – the burgers and French fries leaving gigantic grease stains on the crumpled paper. June moans appreciatively at the sight of the food.

"Can I ask you something?" she asks, once she's cleared her burger and is starting on the chips. "You…don't have to answer it."

Rick balls a napkin in his hands, trying to get rid of the grease on his fingers. "Shoot."

"…I mean," June continues, smirking slightly as she pops a fry into her mouth. "I know you do this thing where you just sort of grunt, but I feel like if you don't respond, you're pretty much answering my question, you know?"

He presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Was it suddenly take the piss out of Rick day? People never used to tease him before, and now suddenly the guys and this meek-looking girl were ripping him. Maybe he was going soft. "How about you ask the damn question and we'll find out," he mutters, irritably, through a mouthful of burger.

June's smile widens then fades, her expression abruptly serious. "Can I trust Amanda Waller?...Be honest."

He wipes the grease from his fingertips and swallows the last of his food. "Depends," he replies, eventually, throwing the balled up napkin on the table between them.

"On?"

"Whether she got somethin' she wanted out the bargain."

June considers this. "I think she did."

"Then you're good."

He stands from the table the moment she finishes her last French fry and goes through his wallet, throwing a twenty down on the table. "Alrigh'. Let's roll."

"Wait –" June holds up a finger and drains her mug of the last of her lukewarm coffee before standing, too. She pauses, glancing down at his money. "Hang on, let me pay for my food –"

He resists the urge to sigh, putting a hand on her shoulder and all but steering her to the exit in front of him. "No need," he tells her, dryly. It's easy to push her around – she's about half his weight, and even when she tries to dig her heels in, clearly about to protest, he just forces her to keep going.

Outside, the rain is starting to let up. The torrential down-pour has lightened to a thin mist of moisture in the air. They've only got ten minutes left of their journey, and Rick finds himself feeling vaguely sorry that it's not longer. June curls up once more in the passenger seat. There are goosebumps all over her legs – he wishes she'd worn a few more damn clothes than just a pair of shorts and a T Shirt – and he twiddles a few dials, trying to make the car warmer for her.

"What's the plan now?" he asks.

June rubs her hands together, in a futile bid to get some heat back into her fingertips. "Go back to North Carolina. Try and figure out how to get this thing out of me."

"Huh." He blinks. He'd assumed that's what Waller would be doing on June's behalf. "Well…good for you."

"Good for me," she echoes, sarcastically.

"How do you figure you're gonna do it? Some creepy exorcism or –"

"Someone left a story," she replies, her voice suddenly no louder than a whisper. She's staring out the windscreen as the car eats up the road in front of them, her eyes slightly glazed over. It's clear that in her head she's back in the pit – seeing it in her minds-eye for the millionth time. "…on the cave wall. Whoever painted it knew how her spirit was put in the idol - I just need to figure out how they did it…then there are the memories, as well," she rubs at her forehead, looking abruptly tired. "I guess it's just a combination of putting the story together and waiting for the memories to come back before…she gets any stronger."

He remembers the paper she'd walked out of the house with. "Can I see it?" he asks, intrigued. "The cave pictures."

June shifts in her seat and withdraws a sheet of paper from her pocket, handing it over to him. He holds it up by the steering wheel – trying to keep one eye on the road. "That's the last one in the sequence," she informs him.

"It's a picture of a stick-man with a wonky circle and a skull," he says, skeptically, handing it back to her. "Right?"

June shakes her head but laughs despite herself. "I guess that's one way of seeing it."

"Why don't you just wait for the memories to come back to you?" he asks her. "Seems to me like that would be a hell of a lot easier than trying to figure out a seven-thousand year old cave drawing."

"Because the memories are triggered, I can't just access them whenever I like. I'm better off figuring _this_ out, and hoping something crops up in the meantime…Besides –" June adds, morosely - wrapping her arms around her knees, a frown on her face. "I don't like the memories. They're creepy and they just remind me that there's someone else living in my body. They only happen when she's…angry or scared. I don't want to encourage her to break my control…that's when stuff like the power cut happens - I was stupid – tried to provoke her –" she tails off, her voice descending into an indistinct mutter.

And then it dawns on Rick why the Doc came in voluntarily – something that's been bothering him all day. "That's why you came with me, isn't it?" he realises. "You'd rather deal with A.R.G.U.S than all the witchy voodoo stuff?"

"Yes," June admits – resting her chin on her knees, her expression brooding. "They agreed to keep tabs on me." They're outside June's house now, but she doesn't make a sign that she's about to move any time soon; huddled almost catatonic in his passenger's seat. Rick watches her. Despite the fact that she is currently paralyzed by fear, he actually kind of respects her: June hadn't run. She hadn't surrendered. She'd handed herself in on her own terms, and there was a bravery to that – a kind of honour – that he appreciated.

"Hey –" he says, his abrupt, business-like demeanor jerking June out of her trance. "Give me your phone."

June sighs, but does as she's told - typing in the password before handing it over to him.

"If you get scared –" he tells her, beginning to type his number into her contacts. "If something happens – _anything_ – just phone me. I'll be there. I promise."

He hands her the phone, but she merely stares at him, her bright blue eyes wide. "I – no," she disagrees, shaking her head emphatically. "I don't want to put you in that situation. You don't _understand_ …you could get hurt." There's a vulnerability to her voice – the horrible reality as she admits that she can't stop herself from harming people.

"June, I'm head of the best Special Forces unit in the country," he smirks. "You've seen the side of me that's cute and cuddly. I ain't about to get spit-roasted by a witch with attitude problems, trust me."

She still looks skeptical, but takes the phone anyway. " _This_ is cute and cuddly," she checks, raising both eyebrows as she looks him up and down, pointedly.

"In a manner of speaking." He twists the keys in the ignition, starting the car once more. "You should get going."

* * *

 **A/N** I've actually been able to update sooner than I thought I would, so here's the next chapter - with our first proper June/Rick interaction! I hope you guys are enjoying my characterizations. I'm trying to give both June and Rick more depth. June only ever really appeared as a frightened woman in the film before she gets possessed; Rick comes off better because his love for June gives him depth, but I also want to explore his mentality and how he sees the world.

Story's really getting going now, so I hope you are all enjoying it.

 **Thank you** as always for your lovely comments and reviews.

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	8. Chapter 8

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 8**

* * *

 _ **June**_

June sits on the sand, a blanket wrapped comfortably around her. Night has long since fallen and the sea is a strip of the deepest indigo-black against the purple sky.

All things considered – being picked up by a shady government organisation that specialized in meta-humans; being poked and prodded with needles; sending a steel table through a wall – June feels pretty good. In fact, she feels a lot better than she did when she woke up that morning. She has a plan. A.R.G.U.S will keep tabs on her. She now feels like she's treading water instead of drowning in it.

She flips her phone between her fingers idly, her mind travelling some place far away from the beach behind her family's house.

There's the sound of the sliding door being open and shut behind her, followed by the noise of her father's footfalls as he pads through the sand towards her.

"You all packed?" he asks, sitting down heavily at June's side, canting his wrists over his knees.

She nods, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, inhaling the sea breeze. "Yep."

They sit in relative silence for a while. It's a kind of ritual of theirs, sitting out here. They'd play cards, throw a ball, drink hot chocolate. Where Jamie was always more interested in the TV and her mother always insisted there were a million jobs round the house to do, June and her father often came outside to watch the waves in the pitch black, with the bugs creaking in the trees around them and the lights in the house glowing golden. The feeling of disconnect – freedom - had been calming. Now - to June - it is nostalgic. Bitter-sweet.

"How long have you and Mom been here again?" she asks him, quietly.

Her Dad scratches his chin. "Somethin' like eighteen years now. You were…lemme see…eight when we moved down from Texas. Jamie was five. Your Ma and I had bought this place expecting to knock it down the moment we got here – build something flashy and modern. Get a big boat. I was…burnin' myself out workin' as a lawyer; think I might'a died young if I'd kept goin' the way I was - But you already know all this." She nods. She does. But she's settling into the story and loves it anyway.

"Doesn't matter," she murmurs. "Keep going."

Her Dad's lips quirk at that, but he continues at her request. "…okay…Well - anyway, you were having some problems with a coupla' girls at school…it felt like the right choice at the time. So we sold the house – or at least, we thought we did. Deal collapsed at the last minute. My job fell through here. We arrived almost broke. The house was a wreck – there was damp in the ceiling. Well…you know what your mother's like. She's got a stubborn streak – you wouldn't think it to look at 'er – but she wasn't goin' to let us leave without makin' a go of it. So I got a job canoe instructing – it was the only thing going that I was qualified for – and your Ma got a job helpin' run the café down the road. Never been happier to leave…all the other crap behind. Makes a man realise what's important in life."

June nods. Small waves break on the shore – lapping quietly at the sand. "I'm glad you guys are happy."

But her father heaves a sigh, looking at her intently as if trying to figure out a very complicated math puzzle. All the Moone family have the same, clear blue eyes, and she can see her father's even in the darkness, a slight frown crumpling his brow. "I don't know…sometimes I wonder if we did right by you kids. Barely had enough money to send you off to college and your younger brother's a lazy lump'a useless."

"Dad, are you kidding me?!" June laughs quietly, resting her head on his shoulder. "Look at this place – it's incredible. You gave me and Jamie the best childhood…you taught us the most important lesson."

"An' what might that be?"

"Live life on your own terms." She looks down at her hands, twisting the blanket between her fingers as she thinks about A.R.G.U.S. She'd sold her soul to the devil, if only to free herself from a worse evil. A lose-lose situation no matter what happened. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have had the guts to drop everything and climb Kilimanjaro or…go explore a temple in Mexico for two weeks."

He throws an arm round her shoulders, squeezing her into his side briefly and dropping a kiss on top of her head. "Thanks hon. I reckon I needed to hear that," he murmurs, before returning his gaze out to sea.

June sighs imperceptibly. "No problem."

* * *

The Archaeological Institute in Charlotte, North Carolina is an unlikely, ugly building crammed on the corner of the high street opposite a busy park. It is five stories high, pock marked with small square windows that rarely allow enough sunlight in. June climbs the greasy cement steps leading up to the door, ignoring the loud noise of rush-hour traffic behind her.

It is not a building one would expect to hold exotic, ancient treasures from around the globe, but inside it is bustling with activity. The Institute has thirty-nine, full-time members of staff along with a small army of graduate's in pursuit of a masters thesis; the hallways are so narrow that June often feels like there are more people in the building than there actually are.

Robert Venkat's office is on the second floor, along with the four others who had made up the team to excavate the temple in Mexico. They'd been given large, expansive offices as a reward for making the discovery and all five of them had spent the last three years trying to unpick the mysteries they'd uncovered there. June had joined by luck: as a historical specialist in human occupation, Venkat had invited her along as a last minute decision once it became clear they were looking at an unknown civilization – one that pre-dated the Mayans. Here were a people that had shared the world with the Ancient Greeks, without anyone knowing. The press had had a field day.

June had spent the past three years completely stumped, however. Whatever this civilization had been, the latest recorded date on anything they could find had been 100 A.D. They could see no overlap between these people and the Mayans – no shared culture or rituals. They had just suddenly…ceased to exist. Considering they'd found the temple half-buried in earth, June had theorised earthquakes or a volcanic eruption, but hadn't been able to prove anything. Now that she knew meta-humans existed back then…she thought she had a pretty decent idea as to _how_ a whole civilization might have disappeared – just not _why_. They would have to be very, _very_ careful none of this leaked before the government knew about it. A meta-human that could break an empire? A meta-human that was trapped inside of _her_ no less? June shivers.

 _It's just a theory_ …she reminds herself, shouldering down another corridor. _You don't have proof. Yet._

Besides she has other problems to deal with. June hesitates outside of Robert Venkat's door, starring at the brass plaque nailed to the wood. _Robert Venkat PhD. Lecturer in Conservation. Deputy Director of the A.A.I._ He wasn't _the_ big boss, but he was _her_ boss, and he could fire her if he wanted to. And she'd let him – but not before she'd figured this out.

June squares her shoulders and knocks.

"Come in."

She edges the door open and hovers for a moment, looking into the office. "Busy?"

"Not particularly." Robert leans back in his chair from where he's been hunched over his computer and takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose like June knows he does when he has a headache. "Take a seat."

She does. Rob's office looks more like that of a crime detective than that of an archaeological professor. He even has a big board propped up in the corner of the room with pictures of dead bodies pinned it; except Rob's dead bodies are thousands of years old and the chance of discovering the motive for murder is slim.

"Nice to see you back, June."

June hesitates, unsure if he's being sarcastic. As usual, his voice is perfectly contrite and polite – vaguely accented from his time in Sudan in his youth. She fidgets in her seat, trying to figure out how best to begin. "I should probably…apologise," she says, haltingly.

Rob nods. "That would be a good start."

"I – I shouldn't have done what I did. I'm sorry."

He shoves his wheelie chair away from his desk to a large cabinet, rifling through it for a file. "You know how much trouble I've been in with the Board of Ethics?" he asks her, brusquely. "I had to lie and say I gave you the OK to do this. I put my job on the line as well as yours to save _your_ ass."

Her stomach twists uncomfortably and she feels her face flame with heat. She wishes the ground would just open up and swallow her whole. "Rob – I -"

"Luckily for you –" he cuts in, pulling himself back over to his desk using the lip of the table. "Your friends at A.R.G.U.S got in touch before you arrived." He drops the file on the desk and opens it, revealing photocopies of June's cave drawings. He spreads them out like a deck of cards. "They told me everything. Like that fact that you're being possessed by this… _Enchantress_. And you know what? It made so much _sense_."

June raises both eyebrows as she leans forwards to look at what Rob is trying to show her. "You know – _not_ really the kind of reaction I tend to get with this, but OK."

"When you sent us these cave drawings, we knew they told the story of Dzmor. Didn't seem particularly interesting – just showed a lot of different groups of people worshipping her, right?" he says, pointing at the individual clusters of people in the paintings. "We figured, because there are slight variations in the drawings – different sizes, different clothes – that these were different cultures. But they're not –"

"How do you know -?"

Robert stands from his desk abruptly and leads June out of his office and towards the elevator at the end of the hall, where he pushes the button for the basement. As usual, he's dressed as if he's just come from an excavation dig – wearing sandy coloured slacks and a white shirt. For a guy who's just turned fifty, he looks pretty damn good. His parents immigrated to America from Sudan, and Rob's thin face has a permanent golden tan – his slight beard now flecked with grey. He reminds her of an aged lion. When the elevator doors slide open at basement level, June's heart sinks. She knows exactly why they're here.

It's the forensic lab team – the area around her a mass of high-powered microscopes and petri-dishes. There's a large steel door on the other side of the room that can't prevent a cold draft from escaping: a walk-in cupboard for the storage of artefacts.

Robert walks her over to an attractive woman in her early forties who is wearing a white lab coat. Melissa Rodriguez has her dark hair secured out of her face in a high ponytail and is easily one of the most beautiful women in the building. Originally from Chicago, she could eat about fifty buffalo wings, hold her alcohol and is one of the only people June has seen who can make a lab coat and goggles look sexy. Unfortunately, she also has the temper and personality of a pitt-bull. She'd been known to call people 'sanctimonious fuck-ups' in official reports and make graduates cry for not labelling artefacts properly.

By the glare she shoots at June, she'd clearly heard about her one-woman mission. "Oh," she says, less than radiant with joy as she wipes down her work bench. "It's you."

Robert ignores the animosity in her expression. "Mel, can you get me the beads and the coronation necklace. I want to show June something."

Melissa rolls her eyes – heavily rimmed with dark charcoal - but fetches the indicated items, bracing her hands on the work bench as she stands opposite Robert and June. Both pieces of jewellery are incredible: pieces of a blue necklace made of thousands of wooden painted beads, containing so many layers it would entirely cover a woman's chest. The other is plainer – more like a talisman and pure gold – dulled and worn by millenniums, but gold never-the-less. "Don't even _think_ about touching these, alright?" Melissa snaps at June. "You break these, and I _will_ kill you with my bare hands."

June rubs at her throat uneasily. "Trust me, I think I've learnt my lesson."

"So, the cave drawings mark the reign of the life of Dzmor, right? Beginning. End. And we found _these_ –" he points to the two necklaces. "That were probably worn at her coronation –" he points to the talisman. "-and for every-day appearances –" he gestures to the blue beads. "We know that the beads belonged to her because the colour blue was only ever used by these people to depict royalty or Gods. It was expensive, rare, and didn't naturally occur in the wild. In Dzmor's case – because she was treated as both a God and royalty – we see that in a lot of her depictions, she's the figure in blue." He indicates to the only blue figure in the cave drawings. June nods, but privately she's can't associate these beautiful, rich pieces of jewellery with the desperate, malnourished girl in the prison. "Anyway, so when we sent both the necklaces off to forensics, something weird came back that's completely stumped us until now. DNA markers showed that whilst the coronation necklace was made in 800 B.C., the bead necklace was made in 35 _A.D._ Which de-bunked our theory that they belonged to the Enchantress until we found out she was a meta-human."

June glances sharply at Melissa for any kind of reaction, but the woman looks utterly unfazed by the news – even bored.

"These cave drawings that you found, June – they mark a lifetime, but not a _human_ lifetime. The groups of people…they aren't different clans – they're different _generations._ The person next to Dzmor, they aren't the same man – they're _different_ Emperors that she was married to…This doesn't show a human life-cycle; it shows the rise and fall of a civilization. And she lived through it."

June blinks, her eyes falling on the last image on the cave wall: the skull and the wonky circle. "You think she saw the end of it?" she asks. What she really means to ask Robert is: do you think she _caused_ it.

It was an unsettling idea: an immortal, all-powerful goddess who ruled for hundreds of years. But June still can't reconcile what she's being shown in real-life to the memories. Which could she trust? Which could she believe? The paintings were, after all, someone else's representation. But at the same time they were objective. Could the memories really just be fabrications designed to manipulate and elicit her sympathy? What was real?

"Basically, what Robert's trying to say is you have the oldest, most powerful meta-human of all time trapped inside your body," Melissa deadpans, chewing on a piece of gum. "Sounds like a blast."

 _Well it hasn't exactly been a picnic so far_ , June thinks to herself, sourly, but doesn't reply. A fight with Melissa is a fight she definitely isn't going to win.

Deciphering symbols and theorising about Gods isn't exactly Melissa's field of expertise – it's not really June's, either – so she and Robert go back upstairs to their offices and spend the rest of the day trawling through their findings in the temple, hoping that something will come up that will help them.

It's a relief to be back in her own office. It's roomier than Robert's - which is crammed with bookshelves - though technically much smaller. Her office has plenty of floor space and a large pot-plant in one corner (now dead); the walls are crammed with photos of her family and pictures of various trips that she's taken on her own camera. She likes the colour and cheerfulness they add to the otherwise tiny room. Settling back into the steady rhythm of research, it feels as if nothing has changed – except that she now has a very personal stake in her own work.

There are still times when June is very aware of something foreign inside of her. Sometimes, when she talks to people or looks at news reports on the computer she can feel _awareness_ in her head – almost as if someone's listening in. In some ways, it's more unnerving than the blatant magic or the memories. June wonders how much control she really has over her own body.

The feeling of being watched solidifies, however, when she catches the bus home that night. And for once it doesn't seem to have supernatural links. When she peeks through the curtains out the window of her apartment there's a man across the road in a suit, taking pictures of her flat. A.R.G.U.S. It's almost a relief to have concrete evidence for her paranoia, instead of jumping at shadows. Still, it makes June wonder exactly what kind of deal she struck with Amanda Waller.

She tries to think back through the conversation in her head as she sits on the sofa with a glass of wine, only half paying attention to the show on the TV. She had thought that it was in their best interest to watch her: she was dangerous and this was an organisation that specialised in containing dangerous meta-human's after all. But maybe there was something else, something she's being too naïve to see. Did they really need to take pictures of her flat – how was that necessary?

Why did June feel like, instead of being watched, she was being documented?

…as if she didn't have enough problems already. She chews on her lip, frustrated, and looks at her phone. She's just tipsy enough to consider phoning Rick Flag, but she doesn't think this qualifies as an 'emergency', and she doesn't want to take advantage of his generous promise. Besides, it would be unfair on him to drag him into this. If the man was lucky, he'd never see her face again.

June tries to relax by going through her research once more. Her fingers trace over Robert's notes. Interesting…that in her memories the girl was 'Dzmor', but in these recordings she was the 'Enchantress'.

It's almost ironic. One second, June is murmuring the word out loud to herself – the next, there's an odd heaviness in her lungs, as if someone is sat on her chest. She tries to breathe, and panics when she can't get air into her lungs. Her stomach constricts and convulses with panic. She frowns, trying to figure out what's wrong - and then suddenly she's gagging – spewing up large amounts of water like she's just swallowed a lake.

Like she's drowning without being under water.

She tries to breathe in, but she can't. She can't breathe out. She's coughing up water – on all fours on the floor. Black spots are beginning to form in front of her eyes. The pain in her throat and lungs is unimaginable.

June reaches up – clawing for her phone lying on the coffee table. She manages to knock it onto the ground beside her.

A voice reverberates in her head before she can make the call – strong and more articulate than ever before. _It's my turn._

"No," June chokes out at the voice. But she's going to either die or lose herself before she can reach her phone. It's like swimming against a fast current. No. Worse. Like being sucked into a black hole. Inexorable. Unstoppable. Like being erased.

She tries to inhale in a rattling, gasping breath – fighting hard.

 _Let me see the light._

* * *

 **A/N** Apologies that Rick has disappeared again in this chapter - I'm trying to develop the 'Enchantress' plot alongside Rick and June's relationship. Also, as **Spiderflight** requested, I'm working to factor June's occupation as an archaeologist into the fic which I think helps to develop the mystery aspect of the story.

Feel free to give me any constructive criticism for this fic. It's nice to hear all your thoughts!

Please remember to **review!**

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N** This chapter is for the people who thought I missed that amazing, iconic June/Rick scene where he finds her in the pool of water. I hope you enjoy my take on it.

* * *

 **WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 9**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

" _Again!_ " Rick yells – red in the face from shouting the command so much.

He's training some of the new recruits at the base; most of them so exhausted they can barely hold their rifles up, yet alone aim. Sweat pours from their skin as they let out volley after volley of bullets.

" _Winning. Is a conscious. Decision!"_ Rick yells over the next spray of gunfire. Hot shell casings litter the floor about his feet, glinting in the harsh sunlight. " _Failure. Is a conscious. Decision!_ _– again!"_

There's a collective grunt of effort as the men fire. They're strapped up in fifty pounds of gear, their heavy helmets offering no relief or shade from the sun. Rick knows how they are feeling: the deep ache to your bones. The searing pain in your shoulders.

" _Suck it up, ladies,_ " Grant calls, watching from the other end the row as he chews a piece of gum. His baseball cap shades his eyes. "Do not stop. Do not give an inch. Do not back down." Both of them know instinctively that in another fifteen minutes someone will break, it's just a matter of pushing them right up to the edge. The men are lucky if they hit the target most of the time – but Rick doesn't care. It's not so much about the thing as the _doing_ of it. They had to experience the exhaustion and the pain - and they had to learn to push through it and keep going.

One of the men abruptly drops his arms and they fall, deadened like rubber, to his sides. He bows his head, panting harshly – the whole of his huge frame collapsing in on itself. Rick narrows his eyes and Grant swiftly moves forwards, crouching down next to him. "Did I or Colonel Flag tell you that you could stop Private?" he asks, getting in the guy's face. His voice is abrasive. "Pick up that weapon. You do not stop until we say you can stop. You shoot until we say you can stop shooting."

But the soldier is clearly struggling with his exhaustion – the futility and apparent pointlessness of the exercise diminishing his spirit. "I – I can't –" he gasps out, between breathes. "I can't do it."

"You don't think about it. Your brain is not a part of this decision: you just get up and you do it, Private," Grant snarls. "I am telling you to get on your feet, so you fuckin' stand up! _Stand up_!"

The soldier stares at the ground for a long moment. Then he blinks heavily to get the sweat and grit out his eyes; his hands tighten round his rifle and he staggers to an upright position. He sways on the spot slightly, but otherwise keeps his feet and returns to a firing stance, his body braced for the kick-back of the rifle.

Rick begins to pace down the line once more. " _Again_!" he barks.

After another fifteen minutes, Rick and Grant let up. It's too dangerous to keep them out in the heat any longer, and besides, he thinks they've drilled the lesson in pretty good. They're not Special Forces by a long shot, but they're pretty decent.

"Kinda weird to think, isn't it…that we do all this shit with them, and these guys have never shot anyone before," Grant comments, as they walk back towards the main base. "All the mind games not to back down, but they ain't ever killed another human being…Makes you think."

"About what?"

But the other man just shrugs, taking off his baseball cap and running a hand through his sweaty hair. Grant's skin has turned to a dark, weather-beaten tan during their time in Florida, the green in his eyes now more prominent than ever. "…Nothin'. We got any new assignments?"

"Nah. She's been pretty quiet."

"You think she's waitin' on that girl?"

Rick casts him a sharp glance out of the corner of his eye. "For what?"

"Who the hell knows?" Grant says, rolling his eyes. " _I_ don't know how that woman's brain works. She just seemed pretty interested in the Doc – so did you."

Rick is saved from responding by his phone ringing from his inside jacket pocket. He fishes it out and checks the caller ID, a frown forming on his face. Grant catches his expression instantly and looks over his shoulder. "Is that _her_?" he asks incredulously – referring to June - but Rick brushes him off by answering the call.

He's only listening for a few seconds, but what he hears makes his face tighten and his stomach twist with something like panic. He hangs up and thinks hard, trying to work through things rationally rather than acting on the bad feeling in his gut. He's already moving into action – planning, anticipating – it's what makes him the best at what he does. "Alrigh'," he says, striding across the grass towards Waller's office. Grant - who is intuitive enough to know from the expression on Rick's face that something has happened – falls into step next to him immediately, listening closely. " - we need a chopper, and I need you to get the guys kitted up for an op. Light body armour. Tell them they don' need to pack heavy weaponry. Keep it small. We're not expectin' contact with hostiles."

Grant's expression is tense. "What happened?"

Rick shakes his head in frustration, rubbing a hand against the stubble above his upper lip. "I'm not sure," he mutters, truthfully. All he knows is that June sounded scared. Real scared.

He all but sprints up the stairs to Waller's office, taking them two at a time. Flight time will be roughly thirty minutes, and there'll be cars waiting for them on the airport landing strip – another thirty minutes to get to June from there. An hour in total. He knows they can do the journey fast, but it doesn't feel fast enough.

"Ma'am," Rick greets, as he is admitted into Waller's office. He stands by the door, not stepping any further into the room. "We just got a distress call from Doctor Moone in North Carolina. I need your authorisation to take my men and a chopper to respond."

Waller, who has been sat at her desk reading some paperwork looks up at him, removing her reading glasses slowly and folding her hands on top of the table. "Why am I the last to know about this?" she asks, arching an eyebrow.

Rick's eyes lock on the space above her head. "It was a…personal call."

"She phoned you directly?"

"...yeah."

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure. She didn't say."

Waller stands from her chair. She takes her suit jacket folded neatly over the back of it – today a plum purple – and shrugs into it. "Take two choppers," she orders calmly. "I want me and three of my men to accompany you. Wheels up in five minutes."

Rick's mouth presses into a thin line at this, but he knows better than to argue with her. "Ma'am," he nods, moving to leave the room, but Waller stops him with a single word.

"And Flag?" He turns to see that she's watching him, her hooded eyes not betraying a flicker of whatever emotion she's feeling. "I don't like not knowing everything. Next time Miss Moone calls, you refer her to me."

His returning gaze is equally level, though his grey eyes show a slight uneasiness. "Whatever you say."

Like a shadow he can't shake, Waller seats herself at the very back of the chopper as the pilots go through their last-minute checks. Her three men, like Rick's, are dressed in light combat gear: Kevlar gun vests worn over their crisp blue shirts and Glocks holstered at their hips. They look overly neat next to Rick's dusty, rugged soldiers.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the pilot jokes into the radio as the rotors above their heads begin to whirl. "This is a non-smoking helicopter, so I'm gonna have to ask you fellas to put out any and all cigarettes before take-off. Final checks have been made. Our estimated flight time to Smith Reynolds airport is thirty minutes."

Rick and Rooster - who have been standing out on the asphalt smoking - throw the butt-ends of their cigarettes onto the ground and climb into the chopper as it takes off.

Predictably, there are five sleek black SUVs waiting for them alongside the landing strip and - predictably - Waller chooses the car that Rick himself is sat in. He sits in the front, tense. Whilst Grant and Tyler are in the back double-checking the rounds in their weapons, Rick can't bring himself to even look at his gun. He pulls his cap further down over his eyes so Waller can't see the worry on his face. As they speed fast down the highway, he can't help but think about the way the back of his neck had prickled when he had admitted he'd given June his personal number. It wasn't just that it was embarrassingly unprofessional – it was more that he didn't want Waller to know about it, though she had made it clear with every syllable that it was her job – and her aim – to know everything.

"The girl's on the fourth floor of the building," Rick tells his men over the radio as they near location. His voice is terse. Clipped. He has a professional duty to debrief and prepare his team, but still, it feels vaguely sickening to talk about June this way. "We're still unsure of the extent of her abilities, so keep your guard up….At the same time, this ain't the wild-west. Remember the rules of engagement. Don' shoot unless you are threatened first. We do not know what we are walkin' into here. This could be a rescue, but it could also be an extraction. Things could get real ugly."

Rick falters, remembering the deadened fear in June's voice. He knows she's not a threat…or rather, he hopes the girl isn't. He knows he can put a bullet in her if he has to. Like he and Grant had shown that morning: he was a soldier. He could be relied upon to do what needed to be done – no matter what. You didn't think about it – you just _did_ it.

He hopes it doesn't come to that.

They pull up outside the apartment block and Rick's men quietly and quickly race up the grimy cement stairwell to the fourth floor. His heart is beating fast in his chest as Hutch and Rooster break down the door at his indication and then storm inside. It takes the eight of them barely ten seconds to clear the tiny, cramped apartment, but it feels like a lifetime. It's strangely grey inside – despite the bright sunshine. Everything seems muted and dull.

Rick enters the kitchen, instantly backing into the nearest corner as his eyes sweep the room. Tyler follows him in, providing cover. "Clear," he reports. They duck swiftly into the next room down the hallway – June's bathroom. His eyes take in her shampoo and other bath products lined up haphazardly on the side of her bath. Her lone toothbrush standing in a glass on the sink. He swears to himself internally. He can't treat this like some, other extraction he has done over the past few weeks. Every tiny thing reminds him that June lives here: someone who he had liked – had actually respected. "Clear," he reports, gruffly – moving into the next room with his gun held out in front of him.

He sees her the moment he moves through the door. He knows he should clear the rest of the room – that he shouldn't be lowering his weapon like he currently is doing. It goes against all his training. He can hear Tyler and Hutch rushing into the room behind him, moving round to clear it despite the fact that they've found their target. As he should be doing.

He finds Grant's words from that morning echoing in his head. _You do not stop until we say you can stop…your brain is not a part of this decision_.

And Rick's brain _wasn't_ a part of this decision. It had frozen completely. For the first time in a very long time, something else was guiding him. Not instinct. Something deeper than that. He's already holstering his weapon and moving forwards. Everything seems slow, like he's moving in a dream.

The room is a completely normal living room save for one thing: there is a pool in middle of the floor. About as wide and as deep as a grave, filled with dirty water and surrounded by reeds. There's a figure huddled inside it with their knees drawn up to cover their naked chest…they're shivering violently, almost blue with cold. It's clear they've been in there for a long time.

Someone shifts behind him uneasily. "Fuck," Rooster whispers, quietly.

The figure raises their head – their brown, wet hair falling away from their eyes – and it's June. He didn't want to believe it, but he can't deny it. Those are her eyes – the brilliant blue that he'd noticed when they first met. And then he realises that she's not shaking with cold; she's shaking with fear. The words that slip from her lips are a gasp. " _Help me_."

Time seems to speed up again. Rick forgets the bizarreness of what he's seeing and collapses on his knees next to her, already pulling off his jacket. "Get a medic in here _now_!" he orders, wrapping the jacket around the girl's shoulders in an effort to protect her modesty, though he couldn't be less bothered about that right now. He's so much taller than her that it just about works. "C'mon honey," he mutters, hooking one arm underneath June's legs as he pulls her out of the filthy water. It's icy to touch, freezing. Her skin is just about the same temperature.

June's eyes are wide and glassy. One of Waller's people enter the room – a woman thankfully. Her hair is pulled back from her face in a tight knot. The moment she sees June in Rick's arms her face hardens. "Someone make themselves useful and get this girl a blanket and something warm to drink," she snaps, striding through the group of stunned men. She moves right up to Rick's shoulder, looking at June critically. "She's in shock."

"She's freezing," Rick tells her, his voice tense with strain.

"Get her into the bedroom. We need to get her warm – June, can you tell me how long you were in the water for?" she asks, taking June's pulse as Rick carries her down the hallway. His men melt against the wall, respectfully stowing away their weapons. Rooster shoots him a sympathetic look. Grant looks like he can't quite believe what he's just seen. But June is not responding. When Rick settles her down onto the bed, he realises that she's still shaking. Her eyes are wide and unseeing and his skin crawls as he begins to wonder if this is something more than just shock.

"June, I need you to talk to me," the women commands, brusquely, as Rick strips the bed of its blanket and hands it to her. She wraps it tightly round June's body. "How long were you in the water?"

But June either can't or won't speak. Even after twenty minutes when they manage to warm her up she still doesn't talk. A mug of tea sits on the bedside table next to her, untouched. He hovers, unsure of what else he can realistically do or say, and settles for sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. His posture is uncomfortable; he is unable to relax. He keeps thinking that something else might happen, but June stays June.

After a while Amanda Waller enters the room. June doesn't lift her head.

Waller looks at the girl critically before walking straight over and dropping a file of pictures on her lap. "You'll be pleased to know I had men tailing you for this exact reason. Looks like your witch has a few tricks up her sleeves."

Slowly, June reaches her hand out and leafs through the images. "What happened?" she whispers, her voice hoarse. Rick watches her intently – registering the apathy on her features. The deadened state of both acceptance and bewilderment.

Something close to a smirk tugs at Waller's lips. "Not much. She stayed in the apartment. Looks like she watched some TV at one point."

June looks down at the indicated picture, then up at Waller. Her face is incredulous. "You're…joking."

"Why would I?" Waller shrugs. "Makes sense. The lady's thousands of years old. She's probably interested in the way the world's changed. I know I would be." She sits on the edge of June's bed. It's an odd visual image: powerful, cut-throat Amanda Waller in June Moone's homey, quaint bedroom. Her eyes search June's for a moment before she holds up one of the pictures, gesturing to a shot taken through June's window. It shows a women surrounded by a foggy blackness standing in the center of the room. "How did she get through like that?"

June looks down at her hands, unwilling to look at the photograph. "I'm not sure…I said her name, and then –" She tails off, squeezing her eyes tight shut momentarily as if to expel some unpleasant memory.

Waller watches this and then pushes, coolly. "Could I…speak to her now?"

Rick actually stands from his seat. Clearly Waller can't see what he's seeing: the bags underneath June's eyes, her white skin and blue lips. The limp, defeated angle of her shoulders. "Have you lost your damn mind?" he snarls, furiously.

Waller's expression is abruptly contrite, though he gets the sense that hidden beneath the mask is a flicker of impatience. "I'm sorry. You're right," she apologises to June. "Perhaps another time."

Rick bites the inside of his cheek before he says something he'll regret, but to his surprise it's June that voices his sentiments. "Get out," she says to Waller, quietly, by way of reply. She keeps her gaze stiffly averted from the pictures in front of her – concrete evidence of the witch's takeover of her body.

Waller barely skips a beat, standing as smoothly as if she were showing herself out. She pushes her hands deep into her jacket pockets. "Don't forget, Miss Moone, that we are doing you a favour. _You_ asked _us_ to watch you for this exact reason" June doesn't reply, so Waller continues. "Of course, we don't expect you to stay here in this house. A.R.G.U.S will arrange new accommodation for you in Charlotte. In the future, if you have any breakthroughs in your research or if this were to….happen again…you should contact us directly and not through Colonel Flag." She glances briefly at Rick. "Am I making myself clear?"

June nods.

"Then we understand each other. Flag –" Waller motions to the door, clearly expecting him to follow her. Rick hesitates, unwilling to leave June in her current state, but dutifully obeys.

The two of them stand in the dark hallway alone. Rick can see Waller's people photographing June's living room, scanning the pool with an odd, hand-held machine that resembled a metal detector.

"This was a waste of my time," she announces, coolly - abruptly.

He flinches, jerking his head back round to face her, but forces himself to remain calm. Of course Waller would see this on a transactional basis. He shakes his head angrily, stabbing a finger towards the living room. "You didn't see her," he snaps, trying to keep his voice pitched low so that no one will over-hear them.

"It's a waste of my resources if, every time she gets scared, I'm sending over a _special forces_ unit and a chopper just to help her out of a puddle, Flag. This department has a budget."

He sneers. "I think you're over-simplifying the situation."

"And I think you're too close to it," she returns, evenly. His stomach twists uncomfortably and he looks away from her. It's a pointed jab at the phone call issue.

"I thought you were curious about the Doc?" he asks, eventually, his voice laced with venom. "What changed?"

"The fact she can change into this witch. I don't want to…misplace that asset."

"The psychotic, creepy lookin' bitch covered in tribal paint?" he drawls, remembering the photographs Waller had shown June. "I doubt she'll be too hard to find."

"This isn't funny."

"You're right," he agrees, his lip curling. "It isn't."

Waller moves through hallway into the living room, where she watches her people methodically document everything in the area. "She needs to be under surveillance twenty-four-seven," she tells Rick, calmly. "If Doctor Moone can find out what this... 'Enchantress' wants, I can use that to gain her allegiance. In the meantime, I don't want any surprises."

"So?"

She looks at him. "I'm going to need you to keep an eye on her."

He rolls his eyes. "Now how am I supposed to do that from all the way in Florida?"

"Because you'll be here, in Charlotte, living with her," Waller replies, smoothly.

He stares, hardly believing his ears. Then irritation – white hot and burning - abruptly boils up inside of him. This time he doesn't both to keep his voice down. "That's insane! Whose gonna lead my team, huh? What about all the work I've been doing for A.R.G.U.S – for _you_. You said I was the best of the best, and now you're just goin' to demote me to babysitter? That doesn't make any sense."

"You seemed to give the impression today that you especially cared for Dr Moone's welfare."

He almost laughs: he can see it now. How easily she manipulates people – boxes them up neatly into different compartments. She makes it so clear that she has made him – and she can unmake him just as easily. Like June, he's pretty much trapped. So elegantly neither of them noticed. Waller continues calmly, as if she hasn't noticed that he's close to putting his fist through the wall. "Anyway, you don't have to worry about your responsibilities, Colonel. We're almost done in Florida. The initiative was a success: the President is impressed with our work. His government have given us the greenlight to move our base of operation here. You can split your time between Miss Moone and your work with A.R.G.U.S….if I'm feeling generous I might even throw in a couple of extra days holiday."

Her team are wrapping up. They collect in their tape and equipment – leaving the eerie pool stagnant and silent in the middle of the room.

"I could say no," Rick tells Waller as she turns to leave, his hands balled into fists at his side.

She pauses, looks at him. An amused smile actually touches her face. _Bitch_ , he thinks, sourly. "You could," she agrees. "But you won't."

* * *

It feels odd. Barely two hours after they rushed into the place to save June, they are about to leave her all alone again. He walks through the empty rooms in her apartment. He knows he's being nosy, but he's looking for clues that would give him an indication of the girl she had been before all this. He looks at the pictures tacked to her fridge: June beaming next to her family; standing on top of a mountain in climbing gear; on a night out with friends, the exposure on the camera set overly-bright.

"I thought you'd be gone by now."

He straightens to his full height. June is standing in the doorway – fully dressed now in leggings and a baggy jumper. She's wearing glasses, he realises – he didn't know she needed them. Her hair is tied back in a messy bun and she's twisted some kind of handkerchief round her head to keep the shorter strands out of her eyes. With a little more colour back in her cheeks, she looks good. There's a brittle hesitance to her demeanor, however, that tells him she is far from OK.

"I'm the last one…" he explains. "I was just about to head out. I wanted to say goodbye."

She nods, stepping into the room more fully, and he watches her place the now empty mug of tea in the sink. She keeps her chin tucked into her chest and her head down. "Do you need anythin'?" He asks her. "Something to eat?"

She shakes her head, mute, and Rick rubs at the back of his neck, unsure of what to say – what kind of comfort he can offer her.

"Are you alright?"

June opens her mouth as if to say something but then presses her lips together, as if she is trying to contain all the fear and pain within herself. Rick suddenly sees the difference between them with clarity. Despite all the ugly, evil, weird crap she is being tormented with, he sees her innocence and he compares it to the things he has done: the people he has killed. He is utterly inferior to her….they all are: A.R.G.U.S. – Waller. He can't just leave her like this.

"Hey –" he reaches out and gingerly touches her shoulder with his fingers. It feels odd – the warm narrow curve of her arm beneath hand; so different to the hard, heavy feeling of a rifle. "I kinda need you to talk to me."

She presses her lips together harder, but she can't prevent the tears that spill down her cheeks. "I...I thought when all this happened that I was still me. But I'm not." She chokes slightly and covers her mouth with her hand, her next words coming out barely a whimper. "I'm not myself anymore."

He can feel her shaking once more. "Hey –" he mutters, but she shakes her head again, a sob breaking through her control. Rick hesitates and his hand tightens on her shoulder. "You're brave, and you're strong. You can make it through this." It's not until he says it that he realises he actually believes his own words. "You're still _you,_ June…you're just scared."

"Rick –" Rooster appears in the doorway, glancing between him and June. His mouth twists – almost apologetic. "Time to rock and roll, man."

"Yeah. Er -" Rick looks down at June, who has turned away quickly at the sight of Rooster to scrub a few tears from her cheeks. When she turns back, her eyes are slightly pink.

"Thank you," she says to Rooster, forcing a smile. Rick doesn't miss the way her eyes dart to the gun the other man is carrying too casually. "For coming with Rick."

"Hey, listen, honey. It's no problem…You just…you look after yourself, you here?" He's being genuine, but he's also looking at June as if she just announced she had terminal cancer. Rick finds himself irrationally irritated. He wants to snap that there's nothing wrong with her. Nothing wrong with June, herself.

She hunches her shoulders. "Mmhh."

He looks down at her. She's so much smaller than he is, and she looks up at him with those cat-like eyes. "I'll…see you around," he says, his hand slipping off of her shoulder. He steps away from her. "We'll see each other again, alright?"

She only nods, looking more alone than ever.

* * *

 **A/N** I'm so pleased you guys are enjoying my take on Rick and June, it really is a lot of fun to explore these two in depth. Also, I have a complete blast writing Amanda Waller whenever she turns up in this story - she's such a bad ass, even though no one likes her!

It was hard to write June in this chapter because she's mainly just feeling scared/frightened, but I think Rick's POV fleshes out how she's feeling pretty well and adds a few layers there.

Thank you for all your lovely comments last chapter!

Please remember to **review!**

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N** Thank you so much for your overwhelming support last chapter. So many people commented with their thoughts and all your ideas were a joy to read. To clear a few things up: _**Guest:**_ The line **"he's so much taller than her it just about works"** merely refers to the fact that Rick's jacket would be large, and therefore cover June's modesty, who is much smaller than him. Sorry, I should have made that more obvious!

* * *

 **WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 10**

* * *

 _ **June**_

June wakes up at 6AM so that she can move some of her stuff from the apartment into her new, A.R.G.U.S-appointed house. There are boxes stacked in the hallway filled with books, bedding and clothing and June hovers by the door, eager and ready to leave. She is not going to miss her apartment in any shape of form, despite having lived in it for a little over three years. Not after this weekend.

"Wow, that things freaky. You just spent the past two days with _that_ in your living room?" Melissa asks, looking through the door to the black pool in the center of the room. She's agreed to help June move some things before they both go to work, though she isn't exactly dressed for it in a tight pencil skirt and loose blouse. Somehow at 6AM, she's in full makeup and doesn't have a hair out of place.

"Yes – can you help me with some of these boxes?" June asks, exasperatedly, deliberately not looking in the direction Melissa is pointing. She's struggling with one of the largest crates stacked one on top of the other in her arms, and dumps one of them unceremoniously into Melissa's hands to get her to stop talking.

"What – _hey_ –" The other woman protests, though June is already attempting to shoulder open the front door whilst carrying two bin liners of clothes. "What's the hurry!?"

"You agreed to help," June reminds her, red-faced and sweaty as she begins to descend the public stairwell. The building isn't high-tech enough for a lift.

"Yeah, _really_ regretting that now," Melissa huffs back, staggering down the stairs after her.

They load Melissa's tiny Fiat with as much as it will hold – the backseats packed to the ceiling – and then set off. The small car physically groans as they pull off the curb. June is sure the two men in the vehicle parked across the street watches them go, but she can't be sure.

"Okay, so, what happens now?" her colleague asks her, as they stop at a red light. "A.R.G.U.S watch you and we try to figure out how to get Dzmor out of your body and back in the idol? They do know that we're archaeologists, right? Not witch doctors."

June sighs, rubbing at her eyes tiredly underneath her glasses. Honestly, she's been having the same doubts, but she has to believe that no matter how bad things get there's a way out of this if she just works hard enough. It would destroy her to consider the alternative. "Let's just…figure out the _why_ first and the _how_ later, OK?"

"I'm just saying - maybe we need to be thinking ahead."

"Or plan for the worst?" June guesses, shrewdly.

Melissa looks at her apologetically before switching her eyes back to the road. "You know what I mean. Besides, that's not for you to worry about, June. Or me. We've got enough on our plates already. Let them…do what they do best, and we'll do our thing." She's using her mentor voice. The one that reminds June that there's a gap of fifteen years worth of experience between her and the woman sat next to her. Only, when it comes to this, that experience means nothing. The closest Melissa Rodriguez has ever come to a meta-human is seeing one on the news. Now she's got one in her car.

"Right," June agrees, her voice falsely confident. She just has to do her job…and try to cope with the horrifying supernatural memories and the fact that she is sporadically possessed by an ancient witch who may or may not have destroyed an entire population. She'd decided not to tell Amanda Waller about that part, even though she'd agreed to share all their findings. It was safer for her to play her cards close to her chest; if they found out how bigger threat she was, they may decide it would be safer to simply eliminate her than keep her under surveillance. She's not stupid: she'd seen the guns Rick Flag and his team had shown up with. If he had been ordered to, he would have killed her. It was his job. The thought causes June's stomach to churn and she shifts awkwardly in her seat.

But where would she be without A.R.G.U.S right now? They're paying for her new house and had hushed up the power cut in Florida. As she gets increasingly deeper into this, June begrudgingly realises she owes the organisation more and more. She hates to think what wold have happened to her if she was struggling through this by herself; who might have been hurt. Should she really be sitting on such vital information, purely because it was in her own self-interests to do so? And how did she know they wouldn't simply coerce Rob or Melissa to spill everything they knew?

June looks out the car window and tries to clear her head of all thoughts. It's barely 6.30 in the morning and she feels like she's worried enough for a decade. She tries to focus on the feeling of relief that she's left her apartment behind – unsurprisingly, the place hadn't felt the same since she'd woken up in a grave full of filthy water.

They leave the bustling city behind them and hit the more suburban, greener Midtown district. It sits directly alongside the main river through Charlotte and June checks her phone in her lap, consulting the online map.

"It's not much further," she tells Melissa. "Just take the next left then a right and we're there."

"Do you know what it's going to look like? I mean, how _much_ does this Waller lady like you – 'cause this is a pretty pricey area."

Her question is answered when they pull up outside an attractive, small house with historic charm and a wooden front porch. June blinks at the sight of it – surprised by how intensely she likes it, despite the fact that the paint has faded and it looks slightly shabby. When she gets out the car, however, and begins unloading boxes, she frowns slightly.

"Can you hear that?" she asks Melissa, walking up the gravel path to the front door. There's the sound of music, slightly muffled, coming from within the house. She glances at the sleek black car already parked in the driveway and irritation and understanding dawns on her. She knew A.R.G.U.S. were tailing her, but did they have to be quite so obvious?

"Hey - looks like your friends are here, too," Melissa comments dryly, looking at the car as well.

The door is unlocked, and the moment it swings open June and Melissa are hit by a crashing wall of bad rock music.

" _What the hell?!"_ the older woman snaps, wincing but unable to cover her ears as she clutches June's laptop.

" _Welcome to the jungle!-_ " a male voice sings, overly high-pitched. He appears in the hallway and June recognises the man called Rooster from Rick's team. Bizarrely, like her, he is clutching a box of things. "Oh hey, Rick, it's your girlfriend!" he beams at them, dropping whatever it is he's holding and approaching them, holding out a hand for Melissa to shake. " _ROOSTER!_ " he yells over the noise, pointing to himself.

Melissa merely raises both eyebrows at him by way of response.

Rick Flag storms into sight out of a side-room. "Can you turn this crap off?" he snaps, shoving Rooster's shoulder. The other man merely rolls his eyes, but turns and walks further back into the house. Moving around in the kitchen to June's left she thinks she can see another, younger man. All three of the men are dressed casually, as if none of them are on duty.

Feeling like her shoulders are about to pop out of their sockets, June places the box she's holding carefully on the floor. "What are you guys doing here?" she asks, cautiously, wondering if they are bugging the house.

Rick rubs at the back of his neck, looking vaguely embarrassed. It suits him – looking uncertain about something for once in his life. It makes him seem more human. The only other time June has seen him caught so off guard is when she admitted that she had a two thousand year old witch living inside of her. "Er – Waller wanted someone to keep an eye on you permanently…so we're just moving some stuff in."

June's stomach just about drops out of her. "All of you?" she says, her voice too high. "Isn't that a bit extreme?!"

"Oh. No, no, no….It's just me."

Now her stomach feels like it's tied itself in knots. She can feel heat scorching her cheeks and she wills herself not to blush. "Why?" she blurts out, realising too late that the question sounds rude. "Why you?"

Rick deftly ignores the question and bends down to reach for June's boxes. "Here, let me help you with that," he says.

"NO!" she protests, too loudly – scrambling to pick up the stuff before he does. She has no idea how she really feels about all this – all she knows is that, right now, she is deeply, deeply embarrassed. It's bad enough that A.R.G.U.S. feel she needs a permanent baby sitter; it's somehow worse that the person they've sent to do the job is steely-eyed Rick Flag, who is far too important and competent to be relegated to _this_. She wonders if he did something wrong. If this is some kind of weird punishment. "No," she repeats, a little more calmly. "It's okay. We've got to get to work anyway, so I'll just drop the boxes in the kitchen and unpack it all this evening."

Rick glances at Melissa briefly. June wonders what he thinks of the tall, stunning Latino woman and feels a bizarre stab of jealousy. She herself isn't wearing any makeup, and effectively lived in the House of Horrors for a whole weekend; she knows that by comparison she must look worse than plain.

She keeps her head down and speedily unpacks the rest of her stuff out of Melissa's car, then locks herself inside it until her colleague is ready to go.

Melissa climbs into the drivers seat and starts the car. "Well," she mutters, twisting the key in the ignition. "That was embarrassing. Are you sure you graduated from college, because I just heard words back there."

"I was caught off guard," June protests, defensively. "Can we please just go?"

"You sounded like a teenager with a crush," Melissa shoots back, driving down the street and away from June's new home. "I need to know: are you _physically_ capable of playing it cool?"

"Apparently not - and I _don't_ have a crush on him. That was the man who pulled me out of a creepy grave in my living room floor naked….Besides –" she adds, calming down slightly. "He's way older than me."

Melissa rolls her eyes. "June, you're a forty year old woman in a twenty-six year old's body."

Coming from a woman who was fifteen years older than her, that stung. "Thanks Melissa."

"I'm serious, when I first met you I thought you were the kind of chick who had ten cats and had never felt the touch of a man." June shoots her a look and Melissa sighs. "OK. Maybe not the last part – you look pretty good when you actually bother to put makeup on and don't wear those geeky glasses…But _anyway_ , my point is, isthat soldier-boy definitely doesn't see you as just some kid."

June shakes her head to herself and turns on the radio.

She finds it easy to forget the situation at work, burying herself in the stack of research and artefacts they've uncovered. It's lucky that their team was specially chosen to study the temple and its origins: it saves them from difficult questions. So far, Rob and Melissa are the only two people who _really_ know what happened to June.

They don't figure much else out, though June fills in Rob on her weekend – explaining how the Enchantress had been able to take over her body. Sat in Rob's untidy office, she finds it easier to talk about the experience objectively and clinically. Rob asks her a few gentle questions, apparently intrigued by the information that the witch hadn't attempted to leave the apartment during her brief time in control. "Maybe this is a sign she could be benevolent," he suggests, grabbing his chin like he does when he's thinking hard about something.

"Maybe," June agrees, though inwardly she doubts it. Though she'd felt sympathetic to the thing after witnessing it's memories of its childhood, her feeling of goodwill had evaporated quickly when she'd almost drowned in her own apartment.

June doesn't leave her office until late – working until night has almost fallen. Its past seven o clock by the time she catches the bus back to her new home.

She stands outside the house and has to take several deep breathes before she can force herself to unlock the door and go inside. But the hallway is completely dark and there's no sign of Rick.

" _Hello_?" June calls, switching on a light and dropping her messenger bag on the floor. It's heavy – stacked with papers and photographs she's brought home with her to examine – and she rolls her shoulders to relieve some of the ache. There's nobody home, and she takes the chance to unpack her things and examine the small house.

There's a tiny kitchen that clearly hasn't been revamped since the eighties, with a round wooden table and numerous cupboards. The living room has a leather sofa and TV, but not much else. June makes a mental note to move in some of the furniture from her apartment to liven the place up. There's one bathroom – crammed with a bath, shower and sink. Rick's stuff is already distributed in choice areas, but there's not a lot. It's clear he doesn't see this as a permanent thing…June doesn't know how she feels about that. The deepest, darkest part of her whispers that she could be stuck with this for the rest of her life…would A.R.G.U.S. be prepared to stretch their finances beyond a month – a year? When would their support end? When would the cost of watching her outweigh the benefit, and what would happen when that fragile equilibrium broke?

June mentally shakes her head and moves on to the next room. Best not to go down that road. Besides – like Melissa had said – they would figure this out. The alternative was too depressing to contemplate.

After the bathroom there's a utility room containing a washing machine and somebody's old, rusty bike and two bedrooms, only one of them containing a double bed. June notices that Rick has left that room for her, even though his own bed looks far too small to be comfortable for his tall frame. Before she can stop herself, June steps into the room. She's always been too nosy – too curious – and she's unable to resist sorting through the small stack of books he has brought with him. She cringes slightly as she picks them up – they are all ragged and bent with their spines crumpled, showing signs of their use; there's a book on tactical thinking, a book about how the body copes in extreme climates and a magazine about cars. The rest are various non-fiction novels about war. His clothes are folded away neatly in draws. If she hadn't known he was a soldier, she would have been able to guess by now.

Though June's unwilling to admit it to herself, she doesn't want to go to bed until Rick returns from…wherever it is he is. The house, which had looked so cheerful and homely in the daylight, now seems foreign and dark. The dull thump of the electric fan turning above her head in the kitchen makes her jump, though she tries determinedly to concentrate on a book of Incan runes, attempting to determine if any of the symbols correlate with the cave drawings. The only thing that she's sure of now is that the sun signifies great power – something that she doesn't need to be told.

At around midnight she paces the kitchen, the bright light stinging her tired eyes. She tells herself she's being stupid – that, after all, _he's_ supposed to be watching out for _her_ and not the other way around – but she can't make herself go to sleep.

At half past midnight, June hears to click of the screen door opening and then hears Rick step carefully into the hallway, clearly thinking she's already asleep. She rushes out, curious as to where he's been and slightly annoyed that _this_ is what she's going to have to deal with. Not exactly an auspicious beginning.

"Where've you been?" she says, trying not to sound like a cliché and failing horribly. It's too dark to make out his expression, and she only gets a view of his broad back as he moves past her tiredly into the kitchen. She follows him.

"I was on a mission," he replies, sinking into a free chair with a groan. He's dressed all in black and he's still wearing his gun. She tries not to look at it.

"I thought the whole point of this was that you were supposed to be watching me?" she asks, folding her arms.

"I've got other things that I need to do."

"Like catching criminal meta-humans?"

"Right." He attempts to stand up and move over to the fridge, but the wince on his face tells June that he's hurt. Her eyes narrow on his left arm, which he's holding awkwardly against his chest. "What happened?"

"Meta tried to twist my gun out of my grip. Bent my arm kinda awkwardly." He looks down at the limb appraisingly, as if he has only just remembered the injury is there. He flexes his fingers experimentally, rotating the arm at the shoulder. "Think I might've sprained it."

She chews on her lower lip. If it's his arm, he probably hasn't sprained it, but he might have strained or torn the muscle. She's used to these kinds of injuries from climbing. "Let me see."

Rick succeeds in heaving himself out of the chair and opens up the fridge, chugging down the nearly a pint of juice straight from the carton. "I know you have a PhD, but you're not _actually_ a doctor June," he brushes her off, dryly. "I'll get it checked out in the morning."

She bristles, both at his belittlement and his offhand attitude. "That's ridiculous. Let me drive you to the hospital."

He rolls his eyes, looking too tired for an argument. He begins to search through the cupboards for food. "Can't. It would look suspicious if we started showin' up at civilian hospitals with weird injuries - people would start asking questions." He upends a bag of peanuts into his palm and snacks on them. "A.R.G.U.S have an onsite medical team. I told you, I'll get it checked out in the morning."

"Well then we'll just say you fell on it funny –"

" _June_!" He doesn't exactly shout her name, but it comes out so harshly that she jumps badly. She sees him for the first time for the soldier he is; a man who outranks her thoroughly. A man who views her merely as an annoying task to be completed and who doesn't have time for interference and questions. Her face flushes with humiliation. "Stop…jumping down my throat, alrigh'?" Rick says to her, a little more calmly. "It's not _your_ job to look after _me_. Drop it. Go to bed."

Normally, a raised voice would be enough to make her back down. She's not confrontational by nature and Rick clearly isn't in the mood to deal with her pestering. But this time, June simply can't. She can't walk away and she can't drop it. This is the man who has looked out for her. Been kind to her. She finds herself determined to give something back – even if he doesn't want her help.

Her back stiff, she stalks forwards and fetches an ice-pack from the freezer and a couple of over-the-counter pain killers; she shoves them into his good hand. "Put the ice pack on the swelling and don't use your arm for a few days unless you have to." She moves back to the table and hauls her heavy stack of books and papers into her arms. Despite her embarrassment, she manages to force herself to tell him how she really feels and look him in the eye. "By being with me here, you're putting your life at risk…just because it's not my _job_ to look after you, doesn't mean that I don't care about you."

She hurries out the room so that she doesn't have to see his reaction.

Later, when June is in the tiny bathroom brushing her teeth, he comes up and leans against the doorframe. She sees him in the mirror and her stomach does a flip, though she doesn't turn around.

"Thanks for the – er- ice-pack," Rick says, holding it up with a slight smirk. An olive branch. "I've had worse, but it was…it was nice of you. It was good of you to wait up for me as well, but y'know you didn't have to."

June rolls her eyes and spits toothpaste into the sink. She thinks she's beginning to understand how he thinks a little better now: all strategy and practicality. "I know I didn't _have_ to."

"Or you just don't like being in the house all by yourself?" he guesses.

Chagrin freezes in the process of putting her toothbrush back in the cabinet. Maybe Rick's learnt how to read her, too. She scowls to herself at the thought, dabbing at the corner with her mouth with a towel.

"Silent treatment," he comments, folding his arms. "Mature."

June shoots him a glare, but then notices he's changed out of his mission clothing into sweatpants and a t shirt, revealing a tattoo on his uninjured bicep.

"I didn't know you had a tattoo," she blurts out, before she can stop herself. She digs her nails into her palm as a way of self-inflicting punishment; she's really going to have to train herself to be less nosy. Still, she'd pegged him for a rigid do-gooder. The tattoo surprises her: it shows her there's something grittier to him than merely a by-the-book soldier…and it shows her there's a daring, reckless side there, too.

"Huh?" he looks down at his arm. "Oh. Yeah. I got it a while back…doesn't mean anything, really."

She wonders if he's telling the truth. "You just got it because it looks cool?" she teases.

"Somethin' like that."

"Huh."

His eyes glint with amusement and he smirks slightly at her transparent interest. Apparently he finds her funny. She'd rather he look at her like this, though, than look at her as a monster or – worse – a burden.

She becomes suddenly aware that they're still both stood in the tiny bathroom, and he's blocking her exit. It's late and June has work in the morning, but she doesn't want to ask him to move. "Anyone ever told you curiosity killed the cat, June?" Rick asks, juggling the ice pack absentmindedly from hand to hand.

"Many…many times," she replies, dryly. She edges forwards, trying to indicate that she's going. "It caught up with me eventually."

He shrugs. "Can't run on luck forever."

"Yeah. Um," she bites her lip, now directly in front of him. He's so much taller than her, and he fills the doorway. "I should get to bed –" her eyes flit to his arm. "Keep the ice pack and don't –"

"Move it for a few days," he finishes for her, slouching against the door frame even more to let her past. "Don't worry, Dr Moone. I got it."

"Haha," she throws back, sarcastically, trying to wedge herself through the gap between his body and the wall without touching him. Living in a house with another person after three years of living alone would always take a lot of getting used to; living in another house with someone like _Rick_ is another thing entirely.

In her new bedroom, June takes time straightening her clothes in their draws and arranging her things. The furniture is made from a dark wood and is almost antique looking. Her windows are large, the ceiling unnaturally low. Her double bed is much comfier than her bed from her apartment – as she sits on the mattress and pairs up her socks, she feels as if she could sink into it.

"Do you need me to sleep at the foot of the bed?"

June jumps about a foot into the air. She hadn't shut her door and Rick is standing at the entrance to her room once more. Given the lateness of the hour, she thought he'd gone to bed.

" _No_!" she snaps, horrified – legitimately unable to tell if he's being serious or not.

He holds up his hands in surrender at her near-yell. "Sorry – I'm new to this whole witch mumbo-jumbo. I don't know how this is all supposed to work."

She relaxes slightly, realising that he's only being honest. She understands that, like her, he has no idea what he's doing here either. It's all new territory – for both of them. She resolves to cut him some slack – but then his eyes fall on the pile of clothing next to her on the bed, his expression turning sceptical. "Are you folding your _socks_?"

June blushes and grabs a pair, throwing them at his head. " _Get. Out_!" she snaps – finally fed up with his enigmatic teasing. She hadn't expected this…she'd thought he would be business-like – aloof. Instead everything she does seems to amuse him, which in turn frustrates her. She hates being made to feel like a child. She has a PhD and a full-time job. She's an _adult_.

She grumbles to herself as she hears him chuckle in the hallway, making his way to his own room. Flopping back onto the bed, June stares up at the ceiling.

This wasn't going to work.

* * *

 **A/N** I hope Rick isn't too OC in this chapter. I'm trying to show different aspects of his character whilst still making him resemble Joel Kinnaman's portrayal in the film.

June and Rick's relationship will develop from here (obviously), but I'm just trying to show the awkwardness of two people who don't really know one another being forced to live together. Both of them are pretty independent people, so having another person nearby - yet alone _caring_ about their welfare - is a new experience.

Finally, I'm glad you all think of June as a strong character. Though I love Cara Delevingne, I don't think she was given much of an opportunity to show the 'adventurous' side of June she mentions in interviews. All we see is this scared, frightened girl and I had to ask myself which of her qualities Rick would have fallen in love with in the first place. It's a beautiful relationship - and it takes true respect, passion, love and dedication to follow someone to the ends of the earth like Rick did for June.

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N** Posting a new chapter slightly earlier than usual because I go on holiday tomorrow and won't be updating for a while.

* * *

 **WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 11**

* * *

 ** _Rick_**

In his new bedroom in Midtown, Charlotte, Rick Flag stares up at the ceiling and tries to regain his bearings. Sunlight streams in at an unfamiliar angle. He's lying in a bed with funchy pillows and a grey bedspread. Around him, the walls are a light cream to offset the dark cherrywood furniture. Through the white, thin curtains Rick can glimpse a front yard he briefly does not recognise – a woman jogs past the house pushing a buggy. Somehow, he's been transported from his quarters on a Florida army base to all-American suburbia in North Carolina.

He rubs a hand across his forehead - trying to push away the sleep - only to feel a stabbing pain come from the inside of his forearm. Memories fall into place with a click. He tilts his head and sees the slightly melted ice pack and glass of water on his bedside table. Through the paper-thin walls he can hear the shower running: June. Rick returns his gaze back up to the ceiling.

He has no idea what he is supposed to do, here. Waller only gave him the vaguest of instructions. He debates phoning her for some clarification, but only barely: he knows what the reply will be if she answers. Use his initiative. Stop acting like a three-year-old girl. The more likely case is that she's preparing for her morning meetings and won't have time for him. There's some legal issues with the state police who haven't been able to build up a prosecutable case against the meta-criminals they are currently rounding up. They don't understand that the possession of a criminal history is enough for A.R.G.U.S. to bring these guys in – arrest based on the _potential_ to do harm. A criminal with enhanced abilities is too dangerous to have on the streets.

Rick flexes his hand again and grimaces at the shooting pain up his arm.

When he finally manages to make himself roll out of bed and move into the kitchen, June is already there. She's rushing round frantically; a small mountain of bags and papers piled up on the table. He notices that she's dressed too casually for someone who works in academia: jeans and a hoody, her messy hair pulled back in an even messier ponytail.

"I'm so late," she throws over her shoulder, distractedly, as she dumps a half-finished mug of coffee into the sink. "…overslept and missed my alarm. I swear if I mess up one more time, Rob's going to fire me."

Rick watches her rush about – once again realising how young she is. The stress and pressures of youth. She doesn't realise that her boss would never fire her: she's too intelligent, too smart – and, besides, she's got a key piece in the mystery they're studying living inside of her. June's disaster has probably given her entire team one-way tickets to fame and a book deal. Rick finds it ironic that having a two-thousand year old dead witch inside her somehow hasn't given June any more perspective on the minor details of life.

She turns round, now attempting to locate her phone. Rick easily spots it lying on the side and hands it to her. "Thanks," she huffs out a breath. "I'll – um – phone you if something comes up?"

There's a question hanging at the end of her sentence, and Rick is relieved to hear that she is as unsure as he is about what it is they are doing here. What, exactly, qualified as 'keeping an eye' on her? Is he some kind of glorified bodyguard? A rapid response service?

Rick hesitates before replying. "Maybe I should come to work with you."

"Are you kidding? You have your own job. I told you – if something…happens…you'll be the first to know – you and A.R.G.U.S," she amends, remembering Waller's threat.

He runs a hand through his hair, looking at her. She doesn't realise how vulnerable she is. "I don't want to do this half-assed, June," he admits, eventually.

"And I don't want to live my life waiting for the next disaster," she shoots back flippantly, now slinging her bag over her shoulder. She barely glances at him, now striding into the hallway. "My Dad always taught me to live life on my own terms: not anyone elses."

He raises his eyebrows, refraining from pointing out that she never exactly has a choice in when and where the Enchantress decides to haunt her. "It's good advice. In theory."

"And in practice?"

He shrugs. "There are the little guys who work for the big guys."

To his surprise, June actually grins at him as she pulls open the front door. "You're not exactly a little guy, Rick," she reminds him, intuitively guessing where he places himself on that pecking order.

The door slams shut behind her, and the house is suddenly empty and quiet.

Rick returns to his room and retrieves from one of his draws June's file. It's been put together by Waller's people and is predictably detailed and intrusive. From this file, he knows everything about June's life – as well as all her research and papers. He's tried to read a little of it, but he's a pretty slow reader and most of it goes over his head. He pauses at the page that covers June's – or the Enchantress's - abilities. The power cut. The fact that she managed to send a table through the wall. Nothing apparently had shown up when they had taken June's vitals and for once in their lives A.R.G.U.S. has been forced to draw a blank.

 _We must conclude that we still do not know the true extent of Dzmor's abilities._

 _THREAT LEVEL: CRITICAL._

Rick shuts the file. 'Critical' was the highest warning level - if June had been anyone else they would have locked her up long ago. He is ridiculously relieved that Waller has chosen to do it this way, instead.

An hour later, he drives to A.R.G.U.S's new military outpost, about an hour out from Charlotte. It's frustrating living so far away from work after years of living on-site with his men; instantly available whenever needed. The military life runs in his blood, and it's still kind of hard to shake the routine of it all.

After clearing the first checkpoint and asking for directions round the flashier, more modern barracks, Rick locates Grant at the gym. The younger man always spends an hour and a half every day working out – Rick had never known him take a day off.

"Hey man, what's up?" Grant pants, not stopping as his feet continue to pound away at the treadmill – at a speed close to a dead sprint. Rick moves to lean against the front of the machine.

"Just comin' to check in. Everyone alright after last night?"

"Yeah, they're solid. Thought the whole thing went pretty smooth, s'far as our job goes."

Rick nods and Grant punches the stop button on the treadmill abruptly, coming to a halt. He rubs the sweat off of his face with a towel.

"It's weird not havin' you round, man," Grant comments, breathing harshly.

"Well, I'm here now."

"Yeah, but…you know what I mean. Does she really expect you to divide your time between the Doc and us?" Grant asks, still breathing heavily. "How's that even gonna work?"

Rick rubs at the scruff of hair on his upper lip. Much like Waller, he hates inefficiency and not being able to give a job his all. The moment he'd been asked to watch June, he knew it would compromise his ability to work op's, simply because he wouldn't be there to train and coach his men 24/7. How was he supposed to run through drills with them or sit through debriefings when he lived over an hour away?

He hated the situation intensely, but he didn't regret his decision to help her.

"It's not going to," Rick replies, eventually. "I came down here to see you. I want to promote you to acting commander."

Grant actually laughs. "You're, uh, you're kidding right?"

"No. I'm not goin' to be around much and because of that, I'm not gonna be giving 100%," he says, forcing out each word like they've been chewed up and spat out. "It wouldn't be fair on you guys for me to have all the responsibilities I do. Someone could end up gettin' hurt and…and I don't want that. So I'm making you acting commander –" Grant looks as if he's about to interrupt, his expression having turned from incredulous to dubious, and Rick ploughs on. "- you'll train the guys. You know the skills they need now. I'll come in when I can for drills, and I'll be there for all debriefings before a mission. It's for the best."

"Waller know about this?"

He bristles. "This here is _my_ team," he grinds out – but it sounds petulant – almost child-like, "and I decide what's best for it. So are you gonna to step up or what?"

"Okay – _okay_ –" Grant holds up his hands as a sign of peace and then rubs at the back of his neck, clearly thinking. He and Rick both know that Grant is perfectly capable of doing this. He runs drills with Rick anyway and he's seen Rick work up close and personal for about seven years as his second-in-command. But it's not his own capabilities that is causing doubt.

"I don't know Rick…this is _your_ job."

He nods, accepting that. But he's doing the necessary thing. "Life ain't perfect."

"Jesus." Grant mutters. The sweat on his face has cooled, sticking his brown hair to his forehead, and he places his hands on his hips, still looking at Rick as if he expects the older man to retract his offer at any second. "Well, I can do it. You know that. If it's what you want."

"…yeah."

Grant nods slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Okay then." He steps off the running machine and he and Rick sit on a bench running the length of the room. Grant twists the lid on his water bottle and takes several huge gulps. "How long for? I mean, how long does Waller expect you to watch this chick?"

Rick merely shrugs by way of response.

They sit quietly for a minute or so. When Grant starts up again, it's to change the subject. He's toying with the lid of his water bottle in a preoccupied manner, a slight frown on his face. "Listen, I've been meaning to ask you….all these meta's we're catching….where do they go? Where is she sending them? Because I was talkin' to her – Waller – and I asked her. You know what she told me?...she said that it was classified. Said that all I needed to know was that it was a hole that they weren't goin' to crawl back out of." He looks at Rick, who is simply staring straight ahead. "Now, I don' really give a shit about those people. They can rot for all I care. But I don't trust her, and I don't trust that when all this is over and the dust settles, we ain't goin' to be done for misconduct or some shit."

"Stucky told me when all this started that it was legit."

"Stucky talked out of his ass, Rick. He said what he had to say to get you on board."

Rick turns and looks at Grant, knowing that the younger man is right. After they caught the meta's, they handed them over to A.R.G.U.S for interrogation and never saw them again. He knows that Amanda Waller would not be beyond throwing his men under the proverbial bus to cover her own ass if the government suddenly decided they didn't like what she was doing. He's been telling himself that everything is fine for too long. "I'll ask her," he promises. "Find out."

Every muscle in Grant's body seems to relax and he reaches out and grabs Rick by the shoulder. "You're a good man, Rick."

He smirks slightly at that, looking down at his hands. "Nah…I'm not."

Grant shrugs. "I just hope this girl appreciates what you're giving up."

He doesn't reply to that – because he has no intention of telling June that he has stepped back from his duties with his task force. It would give away too much…imply that he has more feelings invested in her than he should.

When he goes to find Waller she's still in meetings and he's informed that he won't be able to see her until the end of the day. Rick hovers, standing in a building in an unfamiliar base. Suits rush past him, looking busy and important; out the window, he can make out soldiers doing push ups in the yard. For a minute, he feels completely directionless and useless and the feeling is more unsettling than he'd like to admit – a large black hole in the center of his chest. He stands outside and smokes for a little while, just watching it all, and then gets into his car and drives back to Charlotte.

He's never stepped foot in the Archaeological Institute before. It's a maze of narrow, cramped corridors and he immediately feels claustrophobic stepping inside the building. It's disarmingly easy to get to June's office. There's no security and no passcodes to get through – though her colleagues clearly identify him as an outsider and watch him curiously as he passes. He stands out, though he's wearing civilian clothing; a black polo t shirt and dark jeans. He takes his sunglasses off to look less suspicious.

June doesn't notice him at first when he stands in her doorway. She's bent over her desk, a pen tucked into her ponytail, looking through a series of images printed out on paper and occasionally scribbling notations next to certain pictures. Her office is larger and airier than he would have expected, but is so obviously _June's_ in a way he can't quite describe.

After several seconds she jumps, finally noticing him. "What are you doing here?" she asks, quickly, a now all-too-familiar blush rising in her face when she sees him. She straightens her glasses with a jerk that could be a nervous tick.

Her discomposure somehow puts him more at ease. He smirks, sauntering further into the room and sitting himself down opposite her in a free chair. "Doin' my job."

She wrinkles her nose at that. He realises that she has a cute nose – kind of turned up at the end. "I thought we agreed you weren't going to come to work with me? People'll…you know…start asking questions if you're around. And it's embarrassing enough A.R.G.U.S decided I needed a bodyguard."

"For Amanda Waller, your research is more important than catching meta-humans. You have priority."

"So you're here to spy on me," she surmises, looking less-than radiant with joy.

"You don't have to phrase it that way."

June ducks her head and returns to looking at the pictures in front of her, which he now realises are photographs of different artefacts – vases, pillars, tombs; she grumbles something under her breath which he can't quite catch.

He sits quietly for an hour, letting her work. It's boring, sure, but it's apparently easier for him than it is for June.

He notices with amusement that she can't concentrate. Within a minute she's fidgeting in her seat, heaving pointed sighs and occasionally shooting him a glare. To begin with, he thinks she's irritated because he's distracting her, but he should have known her better than that.

She breaks after an hour, finally throwing her pen down with exasperation and straightening her glasses again. "You're bored," she states, looking aggravated by the simple statement of fact.

"I am bored," he agrees, settling more comfortably in his seat.

"So go for a walk."

"That kind of defeats the purpose of why I'm here."

He watches her frustration mount with amusement, though he's good at keeping his expression impassive. Her blue eyes dart around the room restlessly. "Can't you read a book or something?"

"I'm not much of a reader -"

She clenches her jaw, bright spots appearing on her cheeks again. He realises abruptly that it's not that she doesn't _want_ him there, it's that she simply doesn't like feeling like a burden to him. She wants him to be happy. The small distinction is ridiculously touching, despite her irritation and the way she's expressing the sentiment.

He mentally rolls his eyes and offers: "- but I guess I need to look up some files for work."

The moment he logs onto her computer and busies himself with going through information on A.R.G.U.S's network, June tangibly relaxes. He can feel her eyes on his face longer than necessary – out of his periphery he can see a soft, satisfied smile on her lips.

After a while, a woman Rick recognises from the day before stalks into the room without knocking. She's stunning, with curves in all the right places and long, black hair. He judges that she's either in her late thirties or early forties, and the contrast between her tight pencil skirt and pristine white lab coat and June's baggy hoodie is almost comedic.

She begins talking rapidly the moment she enters the room, crossing her arms and completely ignoring him.

"So we've finished dating _every single_ thing we bought back with us from that temple, June, and the oldest thing we could get our hands on was 11 A.D. I think we've got a problem. -" To his surprise, June scrambles quickly to her feet and stands in front of him, blocking the other woman's view of him, as if she didn't already know he was in the room. He frowns to himself. Was June ashamed of him? Embarrassed?...jealous? "- a lot of the iconography and samples indicate that 11 A.D. was a pretty good year for them in terms of farming, so unless someone dropped a mega-ton nuc on them –"

"Yeah, Melissa. Why – um – why don't you show me downstairs?" June cuts in, too abruptly, and Rick realises that she's not trying to hide _him_ from her colleague, he's trying to hide _Melissa_. His eyes narrow and he tries to look around June but she steps in front of his line of sight smoothly, clearly trying to communicate something to the other woman without him seeing.

"….sure," the woman replies, smooth enough to have understood the silent exchange in a heartbeat. "But _he_ stays up here."

"That's fine," June says, relieved. She looks over her shoulder at Rick, but he notices that she is barely able to look him in the eye. That, more than anything, alerts him to the fact that something is wrong. "Let's go."

"Hold on a second –" Rick gets to his feet and both woman suddenly look at him warily. The only sound in the room is the low level hum of the air conditioning. The woman called Melissa is defiant – her chin rising slightly – June; worried.

"This is none of your business," Melissa says – with the tone of someone used to getting her own way. She raises her eyebrows coolly - a warning: _stay away._

Rick shakes his head. "She made a deal with A.R.G.U.S," he replies, folding his arms and jerking his head towards June. "It became our business."

"Rick –" June starts. He clenches his jaw at the sound of her voice. She hesitates, looking between them both and then caves – "Mel, give us a moment."

"But –"

"Go back to the lab. I'll be there in a second, I promise."

For a moment, it looks as if the older woman isn't going to leave – but then she rolls her eyes. "Fine. It's your funeral, I guess."

Rick watches her leave the room and the moment the door shuts behind her he turns on June, more angry than he thought he'd be. Maybe it's because he's recently taken a step back from his job – maybe it just stings she doesn't trust him. "You know I'm trying to help you, right?" he spits at her. "What the _hell_?"

June's face drops – that's the only word for it. Her calm, neutral expression simply sinks like a rock, her mouth turning down at the corners. She chews on her bottom lip. "It's not you, Rick, it's –" He snorts, because it's quite possible the last thing he expected to come out of her mouth. June ploughs on, her voice cracking. "I trust you, I do, but –"

"Then what _is_ it?" He throws out an arm, gesturing towards the door violently – barely registering the pain that shoots through the muscle. "What's going on?!"

"Don't shout at me," she snaps back, firing up. He's impressed at the suddenness of her anger – he thought she wouldn't be the type to push back.

He takes a deep, measured breath to calm himself but still June hesitates. "Look, I _trust_ you –" she repeats, and to his shock she actually reaches up and rests her hands either side of his face. He's so surprised at her touch that he forgets he's angry. She's had to step closer to reach him, and he can see the precise shade of blue of her eyes. Her grip is strong – stronger than he would have thought – and he realises how intent she is on communicating this to him. "I really do. You're…kind and you're caring –" the corner of her mouth lifts slightly as she registers his incredulous expression. "…But at the same time I _don't_ and…and I can't."

That made sense, he thinks. It was smart, not to trust him. He works for A.R.G.U.S and for Waller. If he was asked to, technically he should be able to eliminate her without question….but it still irritates him to hear her say out loud that she doesn't have confidence in him. "Can't what?" he grinds out, finally.

"…I don't know if I can –" she adjusts her grip on his face – it tightens - and he can see the mental struggle she's going through. His gun is wedged into the waistband of his jeans, but he doesn't think he could use it if she changed into that _witch_ again. "Rick…so far, Waller doesn't know what I – _she_ – is capable of. But _we_ do. We…we think the reason this civilization didn't last was because she caused some kind of disaster –" her voice becomes thick. "She wiped them out. And – and – if A.R.G.U.S find that out, they're not going to bother keeping me under surveillance. They'll lock me up, or they'll shoot me."

He knows, implicitly, that June is right. She must see it on his face because her voice takes on a begging quality. "You can't tell her, Rick – _please_."

He tries to speak but his throat has taken on the texture of sandpaper. He can't tell her what she needs to hear with her looking at him like that, and he wraps he wraps his hands around her wrists and lowers her arms gently from his face. "You can't keep this from Waller, June," he mutters, eventually, addressing the wall over her shoulder. "You're naïve to think you can. Even if _I_ didn't tell her, someone else would – and then she'd know I'd tried to cover for you and we'd both end up in shit. She's playing a different game to us. You can't win."

But June shakes her head defiantly. She steps out of his grip, agitated. "Just ….give me some time to come up with a contingency to offer with this."

"A contingency?"

"If I can figure out how Dzmor was trapped in the idol, I can prove that she can be controlled – made safe." She sees the doubt on his features and stabs a finger towards the desk. "We _have_ the information we need. We know someone did it before and we can do it again!"

Grant's words ring in Rick's ears; ghostly. _She said she puts them in a hole that they're not ever going to crawl back out of._

He's torn. Part of his knows that resistance is stupid, and they'll both end up worse off in the long run. But another part of him can't do that to her. If he handed Waller the information about June's abilities, and June was locked up in that place…it would be because of him. He tries to imagine the bright, fiery girl in front of him in a cell next to the scumbags he has rounded up and feels like he's been physically punched in the gut. There's a strange tugging in his chest.

"One week," he agrees, finally.

"Two," June bargains.

He rolls his eyes. "One week – two – don't matter: Waller's goin' to notice if I don't report back on what it is your doing here."

June pulls her hoody more firmly round herself and frowns slightly, thinking. Rick wonders if there's any problem or situation she can't claw her way out of. "Well…she operates on a give-and-get basis, right? So…give her something she wants. Tell her she can meet the Enchantress."

"That," he objects, instantly, "is dumbest thing I've ever heard." Though, if he's being honest, he kind of respects her for it. In terms of distracting Amanda Waller, it's brilliant. In terms of June's own safety – not so much. "My job is to _protect_ you, or have you forgotten that?"

She flushes. "I don't like it either, but it's the best I can come up with right now. Besides, I don't see you coming up with any great ideas!"

"Oh, I'll think of something," he snaps. _Something that doesn't get you killed._

" - yeah, well, get back to me when you do," she sneers, clearly skeptical.

June walks out of the room all prissy-like, her head held high, but Rick stays put. Shaking his head in exasperation, he throws himself down onto the chair at her desk and folds his hands together in front of his face. In his head, he mutinously plots all the different ways he's going to keep June Moone safe and alive - even if that's in spite of her.

* * *

 **A/N** Wow - so happy that you guys enjoyed last chapter as much as you did! Every chapter brings a new shift in Rick and June's relationship and I love exploring it. (I also love imagining what their house looks like). June will learn to trust Rick, but at the moment I'm writing her as rightfully and skittish and wary of Rick. Though he _is_ there to protect her, he still works for A.R.G.U.S - in her mind, at least.

Not much movement in the Enchantress plot line, but I've written some exciting stuff that comes later on.

Please remember to **review!**

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	12. Chapter 12

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 12**

* * *

 _ **June**_

"Do you mind if we stop off at my old apartment?" June asks Rick. He'd offered to drive her home from work – something she had gratefully accepted considering the bus back to Midtown took forty five minutes. They were driving through the city, but were stuck in rush hour traffic. It had taken June a moment to recognise her surroundings and realise that her old flat was only a block away. Part of her blamed the slip on exhaustion after a long work day, but another part of her knew it was because the apartment had never really felt like home. The four hundred square foot space, with its generic proportions and dingy staircase had felt no different to the hundreds of other one bedroom flats occupied by poor, debt-ridden millennials across the city.

"What the hell you wanna go back there for?" Rick asks, looking at her. She doesn't blame him – just the thought of going back there gives her the creeps. He's driving lazy, one hand on the wheel and the other reached out the window, tapping against the roof of his car as he waits for the jam of vehicles to shift. The sun is bright and low in the sky and he's wearing sunglasses against the harsh glare – looking vaguely irritated by the mundanity of being stuck in traffic.

"When A.R.G.U.S put me in our house they didn't re-direct my mail – I just need to stop in and pick it up."

He shrugs, and – before June can stop him – pulls out sharply and cuts through two lanes of traffic, looping back round to her apartment.

He comes up with her, even though they both know he could have stayed in the car. An unexpected upside of Rick agreeing to keep her secret from Waller is that the relationship they've had now feels less off-kilter. Instead of it feeling as if he is there simply to babysit or because he has to be, they now feel more like a partnership – a team. There's something reassuring about having him with her as she fumbles with the keys – trying to open the door and ignore the crumpled criss-cross of police tape.

Though it has only been empty for a weeks, the inside of the apartment seems dilapidated and unnaturally quiet. Only a few choice pieces of furniture have remained behind, leaving the rooms stark and bare.

She crouches down and picks her mail up off the floor. A reminder to pay back her student loan for the month – weighing in at about $500. A bill for her old apartment. Her latest pay cheque. She discounts the bill, guessing that A.R.G.U.S will sort it out for her, and then open her pay slip and looks at it. Rick has moved further into the apartment – as if scouting out an attacker who could be further down the hallway – but walks back towards her when he spots the expression on her face.

"Not what you were expecting?" he asks, raising both eyebrows as he looks over her shoulder at the letter as well.

June pulls a face, folding it up quickly and shoving the letters into her bag. "No. I guess…two weeks holiday and then I got in trouble with the board of ethics so there's some kind of fine there, too…" she makes a sound of disgust in the back of her throat. "It's less than half of what it should be – good thing my rents now being paid for me." She wonders if she should keep A.R.G.U.S around, if simply for the fact that they're paying her bills.

"I guess the world doesn't stop turning just 'cause you get possessed by an ancient witch."

She laughs slightly despite herself – looking over her shoulder up at him. "I wish it would."

He smirks, but his eyes linger on the apartment – looking down the hallway towards the living room. "C'mon," he mutters, and she guesses where his mind has moved to. "This place is giving me the creeps."

When they step out onto the sidewalk and walk quickly towards the car, June notices that again Rick's eyes seem to dart everywhere – looking for some, non-existent enemy. She knows he's smart and skilled enough not to be paranoid, meaning that there is something out there that she's not seeing.

"A.R.G.U.S?" she guesses, uneasily. Though he doesn't reply, his hand slips to the base of her spine, silently nudging her faster towards the car. "Are they watching us?"

"Yeah," he mutters, popping the passenger door open for her and assuring her in. He walks round the front of the car and June twists as she puts her seatbelt on, trying to spot what Rick has seen, but all she can see are workers hurrying home and people on bikes. Normal. "Where are they?" she asks, the moment Rick settles into the drivers seat. "How much do they follow us?"

"Don't think about it," he advises – not really an answer at all, and not exactly reassuring. "It'll fry your brain like an egg."

"But if they're watching me…I thought that was your job?"

Despite his sunglasses, June can detect the skin around his eyes tightening. He's worried, but he doesn't want to admit it. What if they had already guessed that Rick was compromised and wasn't doing his job properly? Her stomach twists. Would they pull him from her case and put someone else in his place? Or would they simply decide to bring them both in? "…you're our strongest asset," Rick says, eventually, though it sounds as if he's trying to convince himself more than her. "They'd be stupid not to have extra security on you."

"What, in case I blow up? I told them I'd co-operate." His mouth presses itself into a flat line and she continues, venting in general frustration: "Why can't they just trust _me_ to do as I promised and trust _you_ to do your job?!"

"I don't know! Because they're fucked up!"

"But –"

Rick glances across at her – briefly taking his eyes off the road. "Look….trust isn't exactly in Waller's nature, alrigh'? …You'll get how this works eventually."

June calms herself down, though she can't help herself from reflexively checking the rear-view mirror – expecting to see some A.R.G.U.S agents tailing them. She settles back into her seat, trying to enjoy the car journey. Difficult, when the sun's blinding her – she squints against it, not looking at Rick. "I just don't want you getting in trouble," she admits, eventually.

He looks at her in disbelief. "I'm sorry, _you_ were the one that got me to turn double-agent."

She blushes, but rolls her eyes – torn between exasperation and embarrassment. "That's being a little dramatic. I told you to… _withhold_ information. Like a white lie."

He shakes his head, but doesn't look angry. "You're worse than Waller."

"I'm not!"

"You are –" he holds up a fist – pinkie finger outstretched. He smirks. "You got me wrapped round your finger an' you know it."

June's blushing harder now and she looks out the window so he can't see. "Shut up," she mumbles, sheepish.

"I'm serious - you're dangerous, June."

She bites down on her lip hard, unsure whether she's trying to stop herself from flushing even more or stop herself from laughing. "Stop."

She can practically feel his grin, but he does as she asks and returns his eyes to the road.

Rick is in an unusually good mood for the rest of the evening – especially considering he'd recently discovered he was sharing a roof with someone who had capabilities similar to that of a nuclear bomb. June keeps on waiting for him to look at her differently or say something, but he never does.

She finds herself relaxing, too. Where usually she would have spent the evening fretting about work, the fact that she had a demonic witch living inside of her, A.R.G.U.S. and her crushing student debt, June instead finds herself in the living room with Rick playing chess. She hated the living room: the leather couch had a deflated look to it and the wide-screen TV mounted on the wall was tacky and tasteless. But it had large glass doors that led out onto the porch, allowing the golden glow of the setting sun in and the carpet which they'd elected to sit on was pleasant enough.

"That loan," Rick says, as he moves his knight a space. His back is up against the couch, his long legs stretched out in front of him. "How long'll that take to pay back?"

June snorts, she's lying on her stomach but she props her chin up on a fist so as to better look at him. "A long time. I had to pay bills on top of it and the pay of an assistant research archaeologist isn't great – PhD or no PhD. I'm only three years out of college so…"

"Three years…" Rick echoes, squinting slightly as if trying to figure something out and rubbing at the scruff on his jaw line. June quickly looks down, cursing herself for reminding him of their age difference.

"Um. Yeah…what about you. Did you join the army straight out of high school or -?"

To her surprise, he takes a while to respond, deliberating under the guise of considering his next move. He doesn't have to think so hard – he's beating her easily. "…Yeah," he replies, eventually. "My grades weren't the best an' my whole family was poor – almost like some kind of disease. Army seemed like the only dignified profession to go into…I was in a gang with the wrong kind of guys. I think if I hadn't gotten out'a there when I had I might'a wound up on the wrong side of the law." He makes his move and takes one of her pieces. "You're move."

"But you _did_ leave," June points out, utterly unconcerned that he's about two turns away from taking her queen.

He merely grunts and she can see abruptly that he still thinks of himself as that same boy – struggling against the tide of society to do the right thing and not get dragged down into the mud along with everyone else. His rough-hewn, grittier appearance takes on a new meaning to her; a reminder of where he's come from. The marks of a past he can't shake.

"Where are your family now?" she asks, carefully.

He rubs an itch on his nose with the back of his thumb. "Alive. I see my Mom every now and then…my younger brother robbed a bank back in '09 and got ten years in a state prison so I guess I'll be seeing him in another three years."

June winces, thinking about Jamie, who her family worried about because he flitted between jobs and occasionally smoked pot. "I'm sorry," she mutters.

"Nah, it's okay. Everyone's got a story, right?" He makes his next move and traps her queen; the corner of his mouth lifts. "Checkmate."

She grins, letting her chin thump into the carpet. "You're insanely good at this."

"Mm, I've heard that one before."

She scoffs, lifting her head and laughing because it's such an _un-Rick_ thing to say. " _Excuse me_?"

He gets to his feet, stretching his arms above his head until the joints pop. "You heard me."

He steps over her body and moves for the door. "Where are you going?" she calls after him, twisting to look over her shoulder.

"To bed," he replies, nonchalantly. "You coming?"

June blushes – something she really wishes she'd be able to learn to control by the age of twenty-six. She knows that Rick doesn't mean it in _that_ way, but she can't help the brief flashes of scenarios in her imagination, or the way her skin abruptly feels too tight for her body. "Oh – er," she tucks her hair behind one ear, " - no. I'm going to stay up and do some more research…see if anything comes up."

His whole frame visibly tenses. "Comes up, as in you're trying to get a memory?"

She presses her lips together and nods mutely – not trusting herself to say anything more.

Rick narrows his eyes. "Because that worked so well last time."

"If I don't _try_ then something a lot worse is going to happen to me!"

"I know. I know," he sighs and rubs a hand down his face, looking tired. "Looks like I'm not going to bed after all."

She immediately protests. "Rick –"

"June, do you seriously think I'm just goin' to sit in the next room whilst you _summon_ a dead witch? You think I'm going to just roll over and go to sleep knowing that?" She grimaces, understanding his point and he takes in her expression, rolling his eyes. "Let's just get this over with."

He walks into the kitchen and June sighs, pushes herself to her feet and following him, rubbing her eyes tiredly. She flicks on the lights and settles herself down at the table with her stack of images and notations. Rick sits down opposite her, slouched low in his chair – his long legs stretched out in front of him.

June looks at him before lowering her eyes to the papers. "Do have your gun on you?"

"No," he replies, flatly, in a tone that tells her it's no use arguing. "Start reading."

She does.

All the artifacts in the pictures date from about 711 B.C. – roughly the year that the Enchantress began to be recorded culturally. June hopes they'll offer her some clue as to how the girl in the cage in her memories became an immortal goddess worshiped by an entire society.

She bites down on her lip. There isn't much to go on: at one point there are merely traditional images of the sun or crops, and then the next Dzmor suddenly pops up. The minutes pass and she flicks over page after page; intently examining each one. Rick doesn't make a sound – the only noise in the room is the rustle of paper and her quiet breathing. Her fingers pause on a likely-looking image of a tablet of rock – not a depiction or painting at all, but a farming calendar. And a bad one: 711 B.C. was riddled with drought and famine and death. June scribbles that down quickly. As a studier of population movement and growth, she knows that climate-induced hunger can cause social unrest to erupt and civilizations to collapse – leadership can be overthrown and new idols placed in its wake. She flips another page impatiently. Despite the air conditioning, sweat is prickling the back of her neck and brow. Her worries begin to creep their way back into her consciousness. With A.R.G.U.S breathing down her neck it's becoming increasingly clear: if she – if the Enchantress – steps out of line, she'll be put down. Time is running out for her.

She takes a deep breath and keeps turning pages.

After a while her eyes start to pick out neon colours in the light around her that weren't there before. Bright purples and greens streak her vision – too bright; she hisses, pressing a hand against her temple.

At the sound, Rick instantly leans across the table, his hand unconsciously falling onto hers. "You OK?"

June shakes her head, wincing. "My vision's going funny. This happened before…it's a good sign." She forces a smile and tries to return to the pictures, but there's now a throbbing pain in her head and she's struggling to focus on the blurry letters despite the fact she's wearing her contact lenses.

She knows by the expression on Rick's face that he wants her to stop, but that he knows she can't – or wouldn't. Instead, he keeps his hand firmly on top of hers, a reassuring anchor to distract her from the pain in her head.

June flips the next page to reveal the image of the coronation necklace – the thick, gold medallion. Her stomach physically twists and for a moment she's worried she's going to throw up. There's the familiar uncoiling feeling in the back of her head, like a monster waking from its slumber.

" _June_ –?" she hears Rick say, urgently, though the sound comes as if filtered through a thick, brick wall. Her hand beneath his no longer feels like a part of her own body and the kitchen blurs and tilts. There's a sensation of tipping sideways – she gasps - and then abruptly June is seeing the girl in her cell again.

Dzmor is older, this time. Roughly June's own height but younger – barely a woman. She's curled up at the corner of her cell and her movements are animal-like, barely human. The girl senses someone coming before June does – lifting her head to sniff at the stale air. She slowly unwraps her arms from round her knees and pulls herself up the wall into a standing position. The greasy material of her ragged black dress barely reaches the middle of her thighs. She is starving, skinny; her skin filthy. June wonders when the last time she was able to wash was.

The girl stares to the left, and this time June hears the person approach. Another woman comes into view on the other side of the bars. Dressed all in white with long, dark hair, she would have been pretty had she not had the unkept appearance of desperation. Like the Enchantress this woman is too thin – gaunt looking. To her chest, she clutches a baby.

"Dzmor," she whispers, wrapping her free hand around the bars.

Dzmor approaches slowly, a slight sneer on her face – her shoulders hunched. This is not the pleading young girl June remembers – there is bitterness there now – resentment. " _An-kita_ ," she greets, her voice hoarse and broken from lack of use.

The woman called Ankita's face is strained, her knuckles white from her too-tight grip. She keeps glancing at the baby in her arms – unnaturally quiet. "Please," she begs, "the sickness: it's spread to the temple. So many people are dead. It kills within a day – my son –" she breaks off, choking on a sob. "My son is ill. They say he will not last the night. You must –" she stops herself. "I am _asking_ you – _begging_ you – to heal him. I know you possess abilities not of this earth. I _know_ you can save him!"

But the sneer does not leave Dzmor's face. Ankita's eyes, seeing this, fill with tears. "My sister –" she whispers. "This is your nephew. Your own blood. For his sake, _please_."

The darkness around the younger woman seems to pulsate – breath. "His name?"

She looks at the baby, tears streaming down her face. "Ikal."

"How…old?" Dzmor's parched, dry lips crack as she speaks. Blood stains her teeth.

"Three months."

"...Longer than I walked in the light…before I was cast down here." She does not say the words with relish - merely as a statement of fact. Gone is the sneer, to be replaced by a slight frown. She stares at the baby who's breathing is laboured and rasping – too loud to come from such a tiny body.

"Father was wrong to lock you away," Ankita tries, urgently. "He saw only darkness, but you can prove him wrong! Show him there is good on you. Show him that you are not the monster he thinks he is…do not let an innocent child die for an old man's mistake." She presses the baby closer to the bars – offering him to Dzmor.

She looks at the child. Ikal has begun to cry – real sobs wracking his sick body - the sound echoing horribly down the dark chamber.

Ankita's eyes are wide – barely daring to hope as her younger sister stands, surrounded by an eb and flow of blackness.

"If I did this –?"

"You would re-claim your place as youngest daughter and rule with us, I swear it. People will see you for who you really are."

June watches Dzmor murmur those words underneath her breath – _as I really am_. Unconsciously, her hand touches her face – the skin filthy and pock marked. Those same fingers then hesitantly reach through the bars towards Ikal, tentative and unsure. In that moment, June sees the small girl who reached for the sunlight - for the father and family who cast her away. The girl who had never felt the love or kindness of a human touch.

The moment Dzmor's skin comes into contact with the child's, he instantly stops crying - not because she has calmed him, but because Ikal is simply stunned silent by whatever energy it is she possesses. His screwed up brown eyes turn wide; the silence his hiccuping cries leave in their wake is almost unnerving. Ankita unconsciously clutches her baby closer to her chest.

Through the chink in the cell wall, the sky is a bruised red. The sun lies low on the horizon. But all this is blocked from sight by the thousands of dark tendrils that seem to suddenly spread out from the Enchantress. If the sight weren't so disconcerting and unsettling, June would have been amazed by the sheer power the woman's emaciated body is capable of. The threads of darkness make their way through brick and stone - through earth and air. Like another disease, the black spreads through the city. It blocks out the light and muffles sound.

Ankita's eyes widen in fear, but something keeps her rooted to the spot noiselessly. Perhaps it is a twisted kind of hope - or the deepest despair. What could possibly be worse than the death of her son?

In the shadows, her gaunt face with it's sunken eyes becomes skull-like.

"What did you do?" she whispers to her sister, as the sickly-looking magic fades from sight. Dzmor's eyes slowly lift to her face, though her fingers linger on Ikal's forehead, as if unwilling to cut off human contact so soon. Her expression is wary and tense: a dog expecting a kick from it's master. The darkness is still around her - just perceptible - but weaker than before.

" _What did you do_?" Ankita repeats, more strongly this time - her expression horrified. She snatches Ikal back to her - touching his face and cheeks as if to ascertain that he is still indeed alive.

"I healed them. I healed them all."

Dzmor's words are barely more than a murmur. She is holding her own hand in front of her face like she has not seen it before - twitching her fingers experimentally. She does not seem stunned by the extent of her strange, supernatural powers - more, she is surprised at what she has achieved with them. An excited flush has risen in her cheeks - her eyes fix unwaveringly on her sister as she waits for her reaction. However, despite the colour on her face, her eyes are guarded - wary. It is clear to June that she expects this reaction to be negative - for the promise of family and conformity to be taken away from her.

Dzmor wears the same expression at her coronation only days later. Dressed in rich robes she is carried on a litter towards the temple. Like the sea, the crowds of people separate around her - the air is rent with the sounds of drums banging and people yelling excitedly.

" _Enchantress_!" They cry out, casting small blue flowers into her path. Some bow and touch their heads to the ground - others reach up to her, their hands out-stretched. She can't decide if they are asking for another gift or merely basking in her power. Mothers hold up their children - healthy and completely healed. Their gratitude and joy is palpable. The wave of love and emotion around her is overwhelming - intoxicating, like the headiest drug. The people do not seem to see the constant state of blackness that pulsates around her, and for that June can detect gratefulness on Dzmor's features as well. There is no fear in their eyes - despite the disgust Dzmor's father had shown her. They do not think of her as a monster.

Mixed in with the cries of " _Enchantress_ " some shout out " _God_ " and others " _Saviour_." They worship her.

She basks in their adoration. In the sense of being wanted. The sky stretches out above her endlessly: a shocking shade of blue that is every now and again streaked with falling flowers and blossom. The world she finds herself free in is beautiful.

* * *

 **A/N** So - I am back from my holiday!

I hope this flashback to the Enchantress's past makes sense. I love writing her backstory and I draw a lot of inspiration from Magneto from X-Men and Daenerys from Game of Thrones.

As usual, thank you for all your lovely reviews. In regards to **DuxBelisarius's** questions - I cannot give you definitive answers because your queries will be addressed later in the story for sure. All I will say, is that A.R.G.U.S's and June's road to finding the heart will be pretty thorny and there will be lots of juicy conflict there despite the fact they are technically supposed to be working together.

Please remember to **review!**

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	13. Chapter 13

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 13**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

He's aware of how insane this is. He's sitting in the kitchen with half the objects in the room levitating a couple of feet off the ground and he hasn't got his gun. The power is incredible – so potent he can practically feel it, like an electrical charge running through the air. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He knows, practically, that he could die. He knows he should at the very least let go of June's hand so that she can concentrate, but he can't make himself do it.

He has never been so vulnerable in his life. His survival instinct, which has taken him through eighteen years in the army, seems to have shut down. All the training he has ever had is rendered useless: he couldn't defend himself even if he wanted to. By choice – by choosing June – he has left himself at her mercy; completely helpless.

He reaches forwards and clutches her hand between both of his so tightly he's worried he'll hurt her, but nothing seems to bring her out of her trance. The pages of her research hang eerily still about them – a freeze-frame of an explosion of paper. June's eyes are shut tight, as if she's thinking hard about something. Every now and then a twitch of emotion crosses her face – pain, amazement. He desperately wants to drag her away from whatever she's seeing; wishes he'd never agreed to this at all. Every time he looks at her he's reminded of storming into her apartment and finding her lying naked in that grave of water – her eyes blue and utterly empty with shock. Rick grits his teeth, forcing himself to put aside his emotions for the bigger picture. He knows that, in the grand scheme of things, she has to do this.

June whimpers quietly, and Rick swallows down the impulse to call out her name. He's so tense the tendons on his arms are standing out of the muscle. Fuck, he wishes this would be over soon.

June's fingers twitch in his and her brows furrow slightly. Her eyes are flickering erratically beneath her lids and he wonders what she's seeing – whether, at any minute, the Enchantress will take over her body. He holds onto June a little harder.

Abruptly and without warning, June's eyes fly open – wide and devastatingly lucid. The objects suspended in mid-air fall to the ground automatically; a plate shatters on the floor. June takes a big, gulping breath and Rick shoots out of his seat to crouch in front of her, his eyes rapidly scanning her face for any sign of pain or hurt.

" _What happened_?!" he snaps – stress turns his voice harsh as he watches her take in deep, shuddering breaths. Really, he doesn't care what she saw. All he can see in his minds-eye is himself lifting her lifeless body out of that pool. He just needs her to talk; to know that she's OK. "June?!" he pushes.

"I –" Her gaze darts around the kitchen as she rapidly takes in her surroundings. He tries to wait patiently for her to her to adjust and register where she is, but it takes all of his self-control not to shake her. Finally her eyes fall on his face and his stomach sickens - her expression is nothing that he would have expected. Her eyes are wide – stunned – her face slack with amazement. There is something close to joy on her features.

Panicking, he takes her other hand urgently and rubs his thumb across her skin. He tells himself that she is not back yet - that this is some residual emotion from the memory. "June?"

She looks at him excitedly. "I was wrong."

"What?" his heart thumps in his chest. What was wrong with her? She wasn't making any sense. "June, c'mon."

"…She cured them all…I thought her powers were destructive. But they're not. There was a plague and she saved everyone in the city. _Hundreds_ of people, Rick." Her voice is earnest – she still looks vaguely stunned, as if someone's recently hit her over the back of the head.

Comprehension suddenly floods through him. He stands, drawing her up with him and grabs her shoulders, crouching slightly to look her in the eye. "June, you don't seriously think you've got the cure to cancer or…whatever inside of you?..." he asks, incredulously. "It's _inhabiting_ you! It's using your body and it's weird and creepy and we're getting it the hell out of you!" He breaks off, realising that he's speaking too loudly. When she doesn't respond, he swallows. "….Right?"

He hates how it's now a question. His nails bite into her shoulders; he knows his grip is too tight, but he needs to know that she _understands_ this. "June, it's _using_ you. It's lying. And it's going to show you whatever it takes to stay alive…You can't let it get to you!"

"Rick, I _know_ what I saw –"

He shakes his head in disbelief. "C'mon, you're smarter than that. I _know_ you are."

June is quiet for a moment and looks off to the side, the slightly manic gleam in her eyes fading. He loosens his grip – relieved that he's finally getting through to her. "…we both know what she's capable of…" June whispers. "Why isn't she capable of this?"

"It's not a _she_ , it's an _it._ And 'it' is evil."

"She's a _person_ ," June insists. "And she's capable of good."

He bites down on his lip hard. Her idealism and drive is what made him curious about her in the first place. It's her greatest strength – but he's beginning to realise it's also her blind-spot. Her weak point. She doesn't see the darkness like he does.

"What happened?" he asks her, finally. "Just a couple'a hours ago you were telling me she could destroy a civilization."

"It was a theory."

"But you owe it to the people around you to investigate that, right? If there's just a 1% chance that this thing can kill, we need to take it as an absolute certainty."

June licks her lips and raises her eyes to his. The euphoria has long since slid from her face and he allows himself to relax. "…I know," she admits.

He gives out an imperceptible sigh of relief and drops his hands from her shoulders. "Good."

She wraps her arms around herself and glances about the kitchen at the collateral damage. "Are you alright?" she asks, her voice barely louder than a murmur as she takes in the mess.

He scoffs slightly. It wasn't him she needed to worry about. "Yeah, I'm fine."

She nods to herself, quiet. To his frustration, he can see that she's still hesitant and preoccupied. Despite all his persuasion, she's not completely with him. She still believes in whatever messed up crap that thing is showing her and he knows there's nothing he can say to bring her round. It's in her nature, no matter how much bad she is shown, to cling to the one tiny sun ray of good, no matter how small.

Or maybe it was self-deception. Maybe she couldn't let herself believe that there was a killer inside of her – perhaps the lie was easier to believe than the truth.

He helps her tidy up the kitchen and watches as she slowly heads to her bedroom by herself. He takes a split second to deliberate.

"What are you doing!?" June yells, yanking the covers up to her chin as he settles next to her on the bed a little later.

He pillows his head on his arm, stretching out completely. June's bed is a lot comfier than his single. "Protecting you," he mutters, tiredly.

He can feel her body, rigid and small next to his. He cracks one eye open to look at her – she's staring at him wide-eyed and horrified. He allows his lips to quirk. "I don't trust it," he explains. Though June couldn't see the truth, it was manipulating her. Using her. He wasn't so easily fooled; he wasn't going to let her out of his sight – even in sleep.

She huffs out a breath, but doesn't protest any further – simply leans over and turns her bedside lamp off, plunging them into darkness. The only light is the ghostly grey of the moon that causes her thin, white curtains to glow.

He feels her shift onto her side and turn to face him. "Rick?" she asks.

He makes a sleepy sound in the back of his throat.

"We're still a team, right?"

He smiles to himself at that. "Yeah, June. We're good."

She nods. Her head is close enough that he can feel her warm breath on his shoulder. "Good," she whispers.

* * *

The next morning, he drives her over to the army base to meet Amanda Waller for the second time.

It's warm, despite the over-cast skies, and they crank the windows on the car down to invite in a cool wind. The humidity is leaving Rick uncomfortably sweaty, and he shifts in his seat slightly as they speed down the freeway.

"You alright there?" he asks, noticing that June is similarly fidgety. She's jumping her knee up and down distractedly, chewing on her lower lip.

"Huh?" she turns to look at him and his heart clenches momentarily. Her face is so open – honest. He can see the faint scatter of freckles across her nose and remembers what it had been like to wake up and look down at her delicate frame curled up against his side; her breathing so light and gentle you could barely hear her. What he has said registers in her mind and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh – yeah – I'm okay. Just bored of being cooped up, you know? I feel like all I do is sit in cars and offices and interrogation rooms. And when I _am_ outside, I'm always being watched. It's driving me insane."

He nods. He knows exactly what she means; the feeling of claustrophobia even when you were out in broad daylight. The sensation of vulnerability. He'd learnt to live with it after spending years in a constant warzone where stepping on a landmine or being hit by a sniper was a daily hazard, but to June this was all new.

"We could, er, go out tomorrow, if you wanted?" He glances at her, trying to gauge her reaction – unsure as he gently feels out this new territory. "Go for a hike or whatever."

Her Cheshire-cat grin stretches from ear to ear. "Really?"

He shrugs, returning his eyes to the road and doing his best to act nonchalant. "Where d'you want to go?"

"I know a place," she replies, simply – and when he looks at her, her eyes crinkly teasingly. "You'll see."

"I ain't a fan of surprises."

She rolls her eyes. "You'll like this one." He opens his mouth to protest and June laughs. "Jeez, Rick, it's just a walk! Have a little faith."

Again, he has a brief flash of memory from that morning – the sunlight streaming in through the window bright and clear. June's puffy, tired eyes and sleepy grin; the way she'd nestled further into him and murmured " _just a few more minutes_." He shuts his mouth and relinquishes control for once in his life. "Fine."

They arrive at the base and are waved past the first checkpoint after Rick and June's ID's are thoroughly checked. Somehow, in the few days since they have occupied the place, A.R.G.U.S have managed to paint their logo on the central building. Kind of like a dog peeing to mark its territory, Rick thinks to himself dryly. He pulls into a free parking space and twists the keys in the ignition.

"You sure you want to do this?" he triple-checks with June. "'cause there's a lot that could go wrong here."

He watches her twist her fingers in her lap. Though she'd never admit to it verbally, she can't hide the way it's written across her face: she's scared. "I know," June replies, quietly. She looks up at him and shrugs in a 'but-what-else-can-we-do?' kind of gesture.

He nods mutely back and walks round to hold the door for the car open for her.

The general idea was to distract Waller with Enchantress's abilities to…distract her from June's research into the true extent of her abilities. It was messy, with a lot of unpredictable variables. Hell, it could barely be called a 'plan': more of a hasty covering of tracks. A lot of this hinged upon the Enchantress herself, and though June had somehow managed to convince herself that the thing was now an advocate of world peace, he wasn't convinced.

Upon reflection, however, Rick has to admit that its better June let the Enchantress out when they're in a specialized facility surrounded by trained soldiers than in their tiny bungalow in a suburban neighbourhood.

June hovers close to his side as they are assured into a lift by a man in a crisp suit of navy-blue and the now all-too familiar lanyard round his neck. He punches the button for the bottom floor, and they are led down a corridor of converted offices. Waller was like a cuckoo – invading nests with her own people and then moving on just a few months later, taking what was offered, manipulating to obtain what wasn't. It shouldn't surprise Rick that she is already stood waiting for them in a small concrete room which hasn't got so much as a chair. Remembering too-late how she had attempted to exploit his sympathy for June, Rick attempts to unstick himself from her side – placing as much space between them as possible when they walk through the door. He tries to act business-like – aloof – and June looks round in bewilderment when she finds herself standing alone in the center of the room. Instead of standing next to June, Rick plants himself firmly by the door – hating himself just a little bit when he sees her hesitantly walk in front of Waller. He should be with her – she needs the support. But emotional support wasn't in his job description.

The concrete room is making him feel antsy. It has no windows – no furniture – and there is only Waller. Surely they should be in some kind of office.

June fidgets slightly under Waller's calm, hooded gaze. "So –" Waller says, interlacing her fingers. "What can I do for you, Miss Moone?"

To her credit, June seems to have cottoned on pretty fast. She doesn't so much as glance at Rick. She bites on her lip – clearly unsure of what to say as Waller hands the initiative over to her. "I had another memory last night that I thought you should know about…" June fumbles, trying to get her words in order – attempting to dangle her bait in a convincing and persuasive way without letting on that that is what she was doing. "You – er – should bear in mind that we are talking about 700 B.C., here –" she starts. "And all the medical advances we have made in the twenty-first century don't even… _compare_ to this…don't even come close…I saw her - Dzmor - heal an entire city of people of the plague within a _minute_. It was incredible. It wasn't like anything I'd ever seen before - Superman…he doesn't come _close_ to being as useful to society as she could be. Epidemics – famine – hunger –"

"Whoa there girl," Waller breaks in, levelly. She glances at Rick. There is no trace of amazement on her face – none of the excitement showing that June clearly feels. He can see that, like him, she doesn't buy it. "I'm a lady of simple tastes. Cutting off electricity – moving objects – those are skills that are useful to me. A.R.G.U.S doesn't need Mother Teresa."

June's eyes widen in disgust. "You're kidding?"

"No," Waller replies. "And I'll remind you that you aren't the person in this room who has invested thousands of dollars in this project, Doctor Moone. If you had raised the monies yourself, you would be the person deciding what happens here and how the Enchantress's powers are put to use. But you haven't, so you're not. You're a host. A vessel – nothing more."

June takes a step back, her face white. Rick forces himself to stay in place, even though he can tell June is seconds from walking out of the door. "This is _my_ body!" she blusters, colour rising in her face – her voice high with disbelief.

Waller clasps her hands in front of her and nods towards the door. As calm as June is irate. "There's the exit. Feel free to walk away now. We will withdraw all our financial and military aid and you can live your life…right up until you accidentally kill innocent civilians and we arrest you. It _is_ your body, Miss Moone - but can you say with confidence that you're the one in control of it right now?"

Rick's hands ball into fists with the strain of not talking. June's back is rigid, her face a furious red. _Don't be stupid, June,_ he thinks, willing her to back down.

In her own way, Waller was talking sense. June _couldn't_ afford to walk away now – she was in too deep. He remembers the power he had witnessed last night. The problem was, June didn't want to see or admit to the blinding truth: she _wasn't_ in control and she _couldn't_ guarantee she wouldn't hurt anybody. But he now knew her well enough to know that the more she was backed into a corner, the more she would fight to get out…Waller didn't realise how dangerous it was to box her up and contain her like this. The only thing that was keeping _June_ herself in check right now was the vague threat of civilian harm – and judging by her agitation, that wouldn't work for much longer.

He bites down hard on the inside of his cheek and watches as June slowly relaxes. Waller smiles, satisfied.

"I'd like to speak to her in person – the Enchantress," she says, pulling at the cuffs of her suit calmly as if she can't sense the thick tension in the room. "Will she be able to understand me?"

"She's…learning…" June admits, begrudgingly – colour returning to her cheeks. "She speaks to me in a kind of broken English."

"Good."

Waller looks at her expectantly and June presses her lips together angrily, her eyes darting around the cell-like room. "Now?" she asks, snidely.

"I have an important meeting at twelve." Waller replies, without a trace of irony.

"You're…not going to leave the room?" June asks, clearly remembering the last time she had been locked in a cell with Amanda Waller. Rick has his doubts as well, remembering the magic he had witnessed last night. What was to stop the Enchantress from simply slaughtering him and Waller the moment she took control of June's body?

Waller glances at him. "I'm assuming you have a weapon, Colonel?" He jaw clenches, but he nods in the affirmative. He deliberately does not look at June as he withdraws his Glock from its holster. June knows – she _has_ to know he would never shoot her. Waller looks back at June, smiling. "Then we are good to go."

June shoots her a glare, but takes a deep breath. Rick watches as she tries to forcibly relax every muscle in her body – attempting to ignore everyone else in the room. She exhales slowly and then whispers – " _Enchantress_."

Despite the raw, bright LED lights above their heads, everything seems to darken. Rick watches June change into the witch for the first time.

It's like a light switch. The youthful, bright girl in front of him becomes something less-than-human. Or more than human. He can't decide. It _looks_ like her – and that's somehow the worst part. Her eyes are larger and darker – her body more languid with no trace of June's characteristic self-consciousness. June's clothes have disappeared and only metal chains and strips of cloth strategically cover her filthy skin. There's something disconcertingly animalistic about her – wild. She couldn't be further from June – and yet…

Amanda Waller shifts imperceptibly. The witch looks at her – and then her eyes land on Rick.

Where June had done her best to ignore Rick, the Enchantress walks directly towards him. He stiffens as she approaches but refuses to back down – his lips curling into a sneer. He wants her to know he doesn't trust her. He wants her to know that he won't be easy to manipulate – that this is one guy she's not going to be able to mess with.

She stretches her hand out and lies it flat against his chest.

He hisses sharply at her touch. He knows she can feel his heartbeat – strong and fast – beneath her fingertips.

" _The_ … _soldier_ …" She's breathing heavily through her mouth, as if to taste the very oxygen in the air. Her dark eyes search his – her head moving as if to examine him from every angle, snake-like. He forces himself to meet her gaze; his disgust evident. Just being close to it, he can feel the witch's power – but she has nothing on June's strength. Her passion. This was just a body-snatcher who didn't deserve to imitate June's form.

"Enchantress?"

Waller speaks, and the witch turns – trailing a finger down Rick's chest as she does so. He grits his teeth.

She stares at the director of A.R.G.U.S with her big, lamp-like eyes. Any other person would have been uncomfortable – Amanda Waller barely bats an eyelid, though Rick knows for a fact that even _she_ hasn't seen anything this freaky. Superman, at least, had been a little easier on the eyes.

"My name is Amanda Waller. I specialize in liaising with meta-humans such as yourself."

The Enchantress threads her fingers through the chain hanging from her throat. " _Meta…humans_?"

"Enhanced individuals capable of doing incredible things." Waller withdraws her phone from her inside jacket pocket and presses play on a video. It shows Superman flying over a city. "Like him."

Rick's not 100% sure the witch actually understands what she's seeing – or if she knows what a video is or how a mobile phone works.

"What can you do?" Waller challenges – raising her chin. "Because if you're capable of half this man was…I'd be very interested."

The Enchantress doesn't move her eyes from the screen, but the phone itself begins to gradually levitate into the air. " _I can do almost everything_."

Waller raises an eyebrow. "That's a pretty big claim."

Without touching it, the video changes to a clip of the President's inauguration speech. " _What is this?"_

"Democracy."

The video changes again to reveal people protesting peacefully in the streets. Foreign aid participating in a search and rescue after an earthquake. An earth to air missile knocking a civilian aircraft out the sky. A world map showing a network of electricity. Waller examines the Enchantress as she watches evidence of the modern world – carefully evaluating each reaction. Rick narrows his eyes, trying to detect any trace of resentment or fear…but all he can see on the witch's face is interest.

"Flag," Waller says, beckoning for him to leave the room with her. She looks at the witch. "We'll be a moment."

The Enchantress watches them distrustfully before lowering her head to examine the phone in her hands once more.

Waller leads Rick out the cell-like room and back down the corridor until they reach another door, which she opens. Rick blinks, trying to adjust his eyes quickly to the white glare from various computer screens within the dark room. Across one wall are a bank of TV screens covering an impossible number of angles of the Enchantress. The small amount of floor space is crammed with desks. There are too many people in the room – some watching the screens intently, others talking quietly and hurriedly amongst themselves. Though most of them are clearly scientists, Rick can also detect a few military uniforms. It feels like the Wizard of Oz, the curtain finally drawn back to expose the workings behind the face. He feels as if he is seeing A.R.G.U.S as it really is for the first time.

Waller leads Rick up to the front of the room where he recognises June's colleague, Melissa. She's busy scribbling notes down on a clipboard at a hundred miles an hour, snapping at a stuttering intern to zoom in on the various tattoo and markings on the Enchantress's skin.

"Hey there," she greets, not looking up at him as she leafs through print-outs of drawings found in the temple, trying to match them up with what she is seeing on the screen. She glances at Rick's face, then at the witch. "Not a fan, huh?" she guesses, taking in his expression.

He grunts sourly. "You?"

"It's cool. Freaky – but cool. You ever seen anything like this in your line of work?"

He looks at the witch, her black magic moving eerily about her. It's not so much about the way she looks – Rick's seen meta-humans with skin that can change to ice…it's the unsettling sense of 'other-worldliness', like he's looking at an alien. Not only is he getting the sense that this thing is crazy-old, but that there's also something…demonic about it. Evil. "No," he says, eventually. "Never."

Melissa nods. "Yeah, me neither."

Waller strides to the front of the room to address her small army of staff – predictably all-business as usual. There is none of the excitement in her voice that Rick can hear in the other scientist's. "This is the Enchantress," she explains, her tone curt. "She's two-thousand years old and unlike any meta-human A.R.G.U.S. has seen before. Her abilities don't manifest themselves on a biological level. We can't pick anything up when we run tests, but make no mistake – this girl's magic." She points up at the screens, to where the witch is now breaking apart the phone into its different components without so much as touching it. "Communication might be tricky. She doesn't understand out world and she doesn't know much English. You all have three priorities, in the following order:" She holds up one finger and looks significantly at Rick, conveying in no uncertain terms that he is a part of this whether he wants to be or not. "Priority Number One: What does she want? Priority Number Two: How _strong_ is she? Priority Number Three –" Waller holds up a third finger – "What are her weaknesses?...I do not want any surprises here. I do not want any accidents, mistakes or slip-ups. Am I clear?"

There is a murmur of ascent through the room.

Rick shakes his head to himself and Melissa catches his expression. "You alright?" she asks.

"This is sick," he mutters, through gritted teeth.

"It's necessary – we both know how dangerous this witch could be –"

" – I don't mean – I don't _care_ about –" Rick snaps, before breaking off, rubbing a hand down his face before pointing at the monitors. "That's June. That's her body! And none of these assholes see it. None of them care about her. They just care about this…this _thing_. I thought the whole point of this was that we were trying to get it _out_ of her body?"

Melissa rolls her eyes, apparently unconcerned as she draws her dark hair over one shoulder. "Come on, you're the one that _works_ for A.R.G.U.S – that is so unbearably naïve. You really think they got wind of this thing and were on board with sending it back where it came from?"

"They agreed to help her," he returns, stubbornly.

"They agreed to help her so that they could find out how to control it."

He glares at her. He thought that Melissa Rodriguez would be the one other person in the room who would be looking out for June, too. "Don't give me that look," she snaps at him, in exasperation, placing a hand on her hip. "What does June think? You can't honestly tell me she's not a little bit curious?"

He riles up defensively. "You don't know what she's been through."

It's not a straight answer, and Melissa knows it. She looks vaguely smug before she tries to placate him. "Alright, alright. Just calm down cowboy. I promise I'm here to help her, too. And the best way to do that…" she gestures to the screen with her pen, "…is to understand Dzmor as best we can."

He knows that she's right, he just doesn't like the way they're all going about it. He hovers for the next hour, determined to be there for June when she returns to her body. After a while of making hasty sketches and writing down notes, Melissa says with faux casualness as she looks down at her clipboard: "By the way, if you asked June out, she'd hundred-percent say yes."

He bites down on the inside of his cheek, squinting at her. "Not exactly great timing," he comments, looking pointedly at the screens. "She's got a two-thousand year old witch inside her."

A smile tugs at Melissa's lips that he hasn't out-right rejected the idea. "What? Guy like you not tough enough to handle it?"

He makes a sound in the back of his throat and she smirks. Deciding that he's hand enough, Rick steps over to Waller. "Alrigh'," he says, his tone blunt. "You've had an hour. You've had your fun. Let me take her home."

Waller, who had been bent over a scientists shoulder as he attempted to show her something on his computer monitor, straightens. She turns her eyes on him - steely and unblinking. "Flag, we are not _close_ to being done."

"Today you are," he replies, forcefully. He wasn't about to say it out loud, but he worried that if June let the Enchantress have too much control, it might become easier for her to take over in the future without invitation. June had spent all of last night inviting her in, and then most of today as well. She needed a break to just be _her._

They both stare at one another for one, long moment before Waller relents. "Fine. But she comes back this day every week for assessment."

"C'mon, she's just a girl –"

"And she knows what she signed up for," Waller cuts in, impatiently. "Don't let sentimentality get in the way of what needs to be done here." She leads him back through to the cell and when she pushes open the door - as if she has sensed them coming – June is once again standing in the center of the room. Her clothes are unrumpled; only her expression gives away what has happened and the way her hands anxiously twist together in front of her.

"I'm impressed, Miss Moone," Waller says, smoothly, as she ushers Rick into the room. "Not everyone is wired to withstand what you have. You've got a lot of nerve."

It's the first time Rick has heard Waller explicitly compliment June out loud, without any trace of irony or sarcasm. He wonders if it's her way of throwing a dog a treat when it performs a trick she wants.

Upon seeing him, June reflexively takes a jerky step forwards – as if she's about to launch herself into his arms – but she catches herself just in time.

"Ready to go home?" Rick asks her, about the most affectionate thing he can say right now.

She nods, walking quickly to his side – standing too close to him – but he doesn't have the heart to move away. Waller's eyes flit between him and June.

 _Fuck it_ , Rick thinks, momentarily abandoning caution and placing a reassuring hand on the small of June's back, where he can feel her shaking slightly. His answering gaze to Waller's is tense and challenging, as if daring her to make a comment.

"How did I do?" June asks him, as they're led back into the lift by a guard. Both of them can't wait to get above ground and into open air.

"You did good," he exhales, relishing in the feeling of her standing close to him. He needs her there just as must as she does. "Do you remember anything?" he asks, tentatively.

June presses her lips together and steps a little closer into his chest as the lift doors slide open with a metallic grating sound. The fingers of her left hand clutch at his shirt. "No," she whispers. "Nothing."

* * *

 **A/N** This is one of my favourite chapters I've written in a while. I love writing about how A.R.G.U.S react to the Enchantress - and it's interesting to explore the concept of magic within the DC universe when (I presume) they haven't come across it before. Waller and Rick have dealt with so many meta-human's - but nothing like the Enchantress, which is why I'm writing it from a sort of 'alien entity' concept.

Also - Rick and June sleeping in the same bed! Rick and June hiking together! What do you think of their chemistry/relationship so far? Is June still realistic?

Please remember to **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N** To the reviewer **Sarita:** thank you so much for pointing out that the Enchantress is actually over 6,000 years old. I'd done my research any incorporated that in to the first few chapters, but then somehow managed to forget half way through the story! Because I've written a lot of very specific dates down and linked a lot of this to the Aztecs, it will probably take a while to comb through this story and edit out the mistake.

* * *

 **WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 14**

* * *

June wakes in the early hours of the morning to feel fingers twisted in the nape of her hair – her and Rick twined impossibly close together. Her breath catches in her throat and all trace of sleepiness instantly vanishes from her body.

Rick's hand is possessively curled round her back and the feeling of his hand knotted in her hair is impossibly erotic. His breathing is slow and deep, where June's has turned shallow: because it's not Rick that's the problem here. Sometime during the night June has draped a leg across his thigh – dangerously close to his hip. Her free arm is wrapped around his chest, pulling them closer together so that every point of their bodies connect. She's stuck to his side – practically on top of him, really – like some kind of human barnacle.

His body is so comfortable and the covers so warm that it takes June a few seconds to gather the force of will to begin to untangle herself from him.

Rick grunts in protest in his sleep, chasing her across the covers by rolling onto his side. He grabs her leg and pulls it more firmly across him and June can't help the pathetic squeak that escapes her mouth – their hips now drawn flush together, her smaller frame tucked securely into his chest. She blushes furiously. How would he react when they woke up? Was this evidence that – subconsciously, at least – Rick wanted her? Or was his sleep addled brain only registering her as a comfortable source of heat?

Biting down on her lower lip, June settles for pillowing her head more comfortably and looking at Rick's face in the light of dawn. Everything in the room seems to emit a soft glow, and she can see clearly all his imperfections. He looks tired – there are bags under his eyes even in sleep. His skin is just pale enough to border on unhealthy and his hair is an oddly colourless dirty blonde. Peeking out from above the covers across his chest is another tattoo. Like this – without the aura of hyper-tension and danger – June can see the man beneath the soldier clearly. Though in waking moments he never seems to switch off, in sleep he looks so much younger – almost boyish.

Tentatively, she reaches up and traces his sharp jaw affectionately with her fingers, feeling the rough catch of stubble beneath her fingers. She's not looking at his face, and starts when she realises that his eyes are open and on her. There had been no warning in his awakening – no change in his breathing pattern or twitch of muscle. June freezes, unable to withdraw her hand from his face. Had she noticed before that his eyes were the most beautiful butterscotch colour? She had always assumed they were blue.

She presses her lips together and her eyes grow wide that he's caught her out. She moves to withdraw her hand but – again – Rick stops her. This time by shifting his own arm – she watches the muscles in his shoulder beneath his tattoo flex – and reaches out to touch her own face, his fingers ghosting beneath her chin gently. June shivers, barely daring to breath and unable to break eye contact as Rick's fingers trace along her jawline to tuck her hair behind the curve of her ear. His hand is so much larger than hers; spread flat it covers the whole of her throat and she knows he can feel her swallow dryly beneath his palm. He continues to move, tracing out the length of her arm – where her bare skin tingles at the achingly slow drag of his touch. June's heart is thumping in her chest, wondering how far he will dare to go. His movements are lazy and Rick's hooded gaze gives little away – June can't help the flutter of impatience that flitters through her, abruptly wanting his touch in other places. When Rick's hand rests on her hip, she knows he feels her give an anticipatory twitch. But after a few torturous seconds of held eye contact his hand curls over her waist and goes no further; somehow he manages to draw her in closer. His eyes shut once more, his chest heaving as he lets out a contented exhale. Her own body is tense and rigid against his relaxed one.

Bit by bit, June forces herself to relax. Difficult, when it feels like the thing she really most needs right now is a cold shower; her blood racing through her veins. Tangled up in Rick, she can't twist round to look at the digital clock by the bed and find out how much longer they have under the covers together. She shifts her head more comfortably and tries to quell her curiosity and keep her hands to herself. She wants desperately to go back to touching his face and feel along every inch of his body (she thinks with a blush of the huge muscles in his arms, the hard abdominal muscles she can feel flush against her own stomach), but she's now too embarrassed to. Cursing Rick Flag, June attempts to go back to sleep.

* * *

Hours later, Rick and June are scrambling up a steep dirt track that carves a winding line up the mountain. The leaves of the trees - which have somehow managed to twist their roots deep into the steep rock face – provide a little shade from the warm sun. Rick and June are both fit enough that the climb isn't too physically strenuous, so she instead wastes her breath on venting vehemently about Waller and A.R.G.U.S. She's pestered Rick for every detail of the conversation between Enchantress and Waller, feeling more frustrated than concerned that she can't remember any of it.

"What did she look like?" she pants, curious, as she follows him up the mountain. "The Enchantress?"

"I don't know, June – it's not like she was the alien from _Alien_. She looked kinda like you, I guess."

"Kind of like me?" June catches on, instantly. "Or just like me?"

Rick is silent. June wonders what it must be like for Dzmor – to no longer have her own body, but June's. She remembers the young girl with the regal nose and high cheek bones with the rope-like black hair and dirty skin and tries to match it with the blurry photographs A.R.G.U.S had taken of her. She wishes they had provided her with CCTV footage of the meeting.

Just thinking about it makes June's blood boil. The way Waller had treated her…it had all become so clear. She had felt so _stupid_ for not seeing it: the surveillance. The extra protection. The house. A.R.G.U.S hadn't been interested in her because they wanted to _contain_ her, they had been interested because they wanted to _use_ her. They had bought June's soul without her even realising – she had been so horribly naive.

"We could run," she suggests, suddenly. Rick stops, standing on top of a boulder and turning to look down at her. June hauls herself over a particularly large rock. "I'm serious. I'm not going to be her weapon."

Rick snorts and reaches a hand down to help her up next to him. "You keep forgetting that I work for Waller. If I run, it would be treated as a defect. I'd be arrested by my own friends…but yeah," he continues, sarcastically, " - feel free to go without me."

"I'm not going anywhere without you and you know it….Besides," she smirks, elbowing him in the side lightly. "If I escaped they'd just send you to catch me."

"You wouldn't last a day."

"I think I'd last longer than that."

He makes an amused sound in the back of his throat, showing her exactly what he thought of that notion. She knows that he's right. If she ran, she wouldn't even know where to start covering her tracks. She'd be picked up at a gas station five miles out of Charlotte – even the thought of it makes her cringe with embarrassment. A.R.G.U.S had found where she lived before just by tracing a phone call to the Mexican border – they'd find her again.

Rick slings his rucksack off his shoulder and fishes out a water bottle, unscrewing the lid. Somehow, he and June have both managed to dress identically. Rick is wearing a black, baggy tank top and a pair of navy tracksuit pants – June a strap top of the same colour and jogging leggings. "I can't believe we're talkin' about this," he mutters, "I thought this was supposed to be a hike where we pretend that our lives are completely normal."

June ignores him, stubbornly continuing. "Okay. I have a different great idea."

"- really? –" he mutters, sardonically, as he takes a gulp of water.

"What if we just _blackmail_ Waller. Release something to the press –"

"No –" Rick interjects.

"- we'll uncover… _whatever_ it is she's doing -"

Rick looks at the sky, as if hoping some kind of deity with come down and save him. "No. June."

"She's not allowed to operate like this!" she protests, wiping the sweat from her brow absentmindedly. "She's just twisting arms behind backs to get her own way and I don't appreciate it!"

" _Or_ we carry on doin' what we're doin' and instead of trying to sabotage A.R.G.U.S you find the crazy mystical idol. We put the witch _back_ into it. We enjoy today and pretend that we're normal people livin' normal lives. That's how it's gunna go. End of discussion."

" _Not_ end of discussion," June snaps, as he zips the rucksack back up. "I don't like being turned into –"

Suddenly and abruptly, Rick's hands are on her shoulders and his face is too close to hers. "June," he says, a hint of exasperation in his voice as he looks her firmly in the eye. "We've got a lot of problems – and none of them are going away any time soon…you're not goin' to change that, OK? I want to enjoytoday, and Amanda Waller is the _last_ thing I want to hear about right now."

A flood of understanding rushes through her; not because she has realised that she's wrong or that he's right, but because it dawns on her that she isn't the only person who could quite happily go the rest of their days without hearing the acronym A.R.G.U.S or the words 'Amanda Waller'. June wasn't the only one having her arm twisted, and she wasn't the only one under a lot of pressure. Looking at Rick now, she can see clearly how torn he is between doing right by her, and toeing the line with A.R.G.U.S.

She isn't the only one who needs a twenty-four hour holiday from their messed up life.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, chagrined. "You're right. I'm ruining this for us."

He straightens and rolls his eyes. "C'mon, you know I didn't mean it like that–"

But June forces a smile, brushing away his protest. "It's alright. Let's go. We're nearly at the top."

She takes his hand in hers and tugs him further up the trail – determined now that he enjoy himself. True to form, Rick looks characteristically amused by her resolution and determination; she's sure that – to him – she's a walking (albeit exasperating) comedy show. Only, he's willing to go along with whatever it is she asks of him.

It's funny, June would have pegged Rick as a leader, but all he ever seems to do is follow her– even when it feels as if she spends most of her time leaning and relying on him.

Somehow, they manage to make it the rest of the trek without mentioning anything supernatural or meta-human related. June's chalks this up to her unquenchable curiosity and Rick's willingness to listen to rambling anecdotes about her childhood. They swap stories about travelling the world; families and past relationships. She's fascinated by his stories of the Middle East – the dusty villages, beautiful orchards and excitable children. The land mines by the sides of roads and the blistering heat.

Rick has only dodged some of her questions. He tells her a little about his tours during the war and – later – becoming the leader of a Special Forces unit, lingering on the camaraderie and training instead of the gory, scrappy missions. Despite his taciturn attitude, she's amazed at how easily he can inspire confidence and faith…she is not the first person to implicitly trust Rick Flag with her life and it does not surprise her that his men have followed him to A.R.G.U.S despite the less-than-ideal circumstances. He makes her laugh with his token army sayings; such as when she tells him about Jamie ("yeah, well, nobody ever achieved anything sittin' on their ass").

By the time they reach the top, June is out of breath from talking. The only thing she can do is stand on a rock behind Rick and take in the view. She's seen it countless times before, but it still takes her breath away. The valley, filled with prehistoric trees. The sky, with its slight sun haze. So much green – so beautiful – and so nice to be above it all, in the clear air. June hadn't realised how much tension she'd been holding in her back and shoulders until it's not there anymore; all the claustrophobia, stress and fear she had been holding in just seems to melt away. Without thinking about it too much, June leans forwards and wraps her arms around Rick's neck, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"Thank you," she murmurs, eventually, not taking her eyes away from the landscape. "I wouldn't have been able to do any of this without you."

She feels his cheek pull into a smirk against hers. "Likewise."

June rolls her eyes at his less-than verbose reply, but at least she knows that he means it (though she can't see how she's been _any_ help to him). She makes a sceptical sound.

"I'm serious," Rick says, tilting his head slightly so he can look at June out of his peripheral. "After a while…you see so many bad, fucked-up people, you begin to wonder if there's good in the world anymore. You reminded me that there is."

"I'm one of those fucked-up people," June reminds him, half-serious. Another part of her hopes that, if she can teach Rick to see good in the darkest of places again, he'll come round to her idea that the Enchantress can do good…she doesn't bring it up, however – knowing that the conversation would sink like a rock and turn to an argument if she did.

He reaches round and presses his fingers into her ribs, and she yelps, laughing. "Nah, you're not." He says, as her grip slackens. He turns round and June is amazed that she'd never noticed the colour of his eyes before this morning – they're beautiful. Almost amber. There's a real smile on his face – a wide, charmingly crooked grin. "An' I think you'd have done just fine without me."

"You were the one who said I wouldn't have lasted a day on the run," she points out.

His smirks. "Do you always have to have the last word?"

She blushes but pretends to think, a smile tugging at her mouth. "Um…yes."

But he's standing so close and looking at her with such warmth that June's pretty sure neither of them are truly concentrating on what they are saying. Part of her simply wants to grab him and kiss him, but she knows she's too confused right now about their situation and what it is she wants to make any kind of definitive move. All she knows is that when Rick looks at her like this, it makes her flustered and confused and her stomach twists itself into a knot.

She breaks eye contact, fearing he might be able to read what she's thinking on her face: memories of them sleepily tangled together in bed flitting through her mind like a shadow. A strange ache forms below her heart.

"We should probably start walking back down," June mutters, ducking her head.

Its well into the afternoon by the time they get back to the more generic touristy areas and locate Rick's car in the parking lot. Reality quickly comes knocking in the form of June's mobile phone ringing. She hovers on the gravel, about to get into the car and shading her eyes as she tries to peer down at the caller ID. It's her mother.

Rick - who is already in the car - looks across at her quizzically, but June holds up a finger. _One second_ , she mouths.

"Hi, Mom," she says, quickly answering the call.

"Hi, honey!" her mother calls – chirpy. In the background June can hear the throaty rumbling of the family jeep's engine. "Your father and I are on the way to Texas to meet some old friends and we were wondering if we could drop in and see you on the way back."

June presses a hand to her forehead. There are so many things wrong with the statement – not only are her parents extending their trip by nine hours to come north to Carolina just to see her, they are also clearly assuming they will have a place to stay overnight. There is also the glaring fact that June no longer lives in the apartment they think she lives in. She has a brief mental image of her parents arriving and seeing the door covered in police tape – the inside of the house dusty and abandoned.

"No. Mom, don't do that."

"Why not? It was _so_ nice to see you and it's really no trouble –"

June looks round. The sun is too bright and there are too many families and hikers bustling around her. She can't think straight. "I've got so much work at the moment –" she tries.

On the other end of the line, June can hear her father asking what's going on; what she's saying.

"Oh, June, it would only be for the evening!" Her mother says, clearly exasperated now. "And we're flexible on the day – we can fit in around you."

"I've got plans." But June has never been a convincing liar and what could have been a legitimate excuse turns stale and flimsy. It hangs in the silence between her and her mother like some kind of toxic gas. The pause on her mother's end speaks volumes.

" _What's she saying_?" she can hear her father asking through the vacuum of quiet. " _Is she OK_?"

June squeezes her eyes shut and holds the phone away from her ear momentarily, as if total sensory shutdown will be enough to eliminate the situation. This is too stark a reminder of the sacrifices she's had to make since 'the accident'. Whilst lying to her family isn't the biggest compromise she's had to make, it still stings. She hasn't been able to talk to her friends. She's had to move out of her house. A.R.G.U.S seem to have selected some, greater agenda she is not aware of but is forced to partake in. She has been manipulated, lied to and haunted. There is the constant fear that she could hurt someone – hurt _Rick_. There is _another person_ living inside her body – the greatest violation of all. It's the smallest trigger, but abruptly June feels so _tired._ In that moment, she would give anything for it all to end. Anything at all.

She stares up at the sky – a hazy, milky blue.

"Mom, I've got to go," she says, trying to sound convincing. "Have a nice time in Texas."

She hangs up before her parents can protest and clambers into the passenger seat next to Rick. She inhales the familiar scent of his mint air freshener that doesn't quite hide the smell of cigarettes, relaxing slightly. Just recently, they've driven a lot of places in this car together. It feels safe. Contained.

"What was that about?" he asks, raising both eyebrows.

June rests her head back heavily against the headrest, looking through the windscreen. "Just my parents…they wanted to stop off and say hi in a week or so. Would've shown up at my old apartment and completely freaked out…. _God_ ," June drops her head into her hands. Even the _thought_ of trying to explain what had happened to her made her cringe. Dead witches? Shady organisations? A full-time _bodyguard_?

She feels Rick's hand rub her back, warm and comforting and she lifts her head, moving her hands to hold her hair back out of her eyes.

"You alright?" he asks her, taking in June's wide-eyed, dazed expression.

"It's just all so messed up," she mutters, still staring straight ahead. She thinks about everything that has happened to her in the past few weeks...sees herself getting off the bus in Mexico, hiking into the forest by herself. _Why_ had she done it? Rick had laughed when she'd told him, and said that only someone like her would do something like _that_ …did that mean it was fate? Or did it just mean she was stupid? She twists her head to look up at him. "…you know?"

The corner of his lips lift slightly. "Don't go quittin' on me now, June."

June sighs. "I'm not," she promises. "I'm not going to give up."

"Good."

She shakes her head, not finished. " - I just can't believe I did this to myself."

He sighs, using the hand on her back to coax her into leaning over and resting her head onto his shoulder. June worries her lower lip with her teeth. It was inevitable, really, that this would happen. Neither of them could escape it – even if they hiked to the top of the tallest mountain. There was no point in all her talk of running; it was an impossibility. There was no getting away from the fact that their lives _weren't_ normal: that this was it.

"Actually, no," June amends, speaking to Rick. "The worst part _isn't_ that I did this to myself, it's that you got dragged into it all as well."

"That…is the stupidest thing I've ever heard," he drawls, his Southern accent becoming more pronounced.

She laughs despite herself and he wraps an arm around her shoulders. "C'mere," he mutters, holding her into his side more securely. It's a bit awkward – her body stretched between the two seats, but she's never felt more safe.

"You just listen to me, alrigh'?" he tells her. "We are in this _together._ I signed up for this. But I am not just here because this is my job, I am here because I _care_ about you – and I think I've made that pretty damn clear already. So don't go thinking that I would want to be anywhere else…I can leave anytime I want. But it's my decision not to." His voice is low and strong – almost passionate – and he virtually hisses the words into her ear. She lets his voice wash over her and a shiver runs up her spine. It is this – more than the hike – that June needed. She didn't need to get away from her problems – she just needed to hear that her problems hadn't hurt anyone else.

His fingers are once again woven into her hair and June hums contentedly at the feel of it – somewhere in the back of her mind she is dimly aware that their actions towards one another are becoming less and less platonic, but it feels too good to care.

"...I respect you," he tells her, his voice musing now. "When the going gets tough, you actually fight back. You've got spirit…It's rare…an' you don't see it much. You're one of the strongest people I know."

June's lips twitch at this man next to her. Tough as tree-roots, stern, tall and intimidating…it was only when you got physically close enough to get past all that that she had seen how thoughtful and gentle Rick could be. She glances up at him, but at this angle she can only see his face in profile. "Yeah…you're not half-bad, either," she grins.

"Wow," Rick says, shaking his head. "Not half-bad, huh?"

"Yeah," she replies, giggling at his dry tone.

"That's cold."

"Okay - okay," she protests - then adds, "you're...alright. I guess."

He throws her a look and June represses a snort of laughter with difficulty.

"I mean, you're a bit of a headache to live with, but I think I can handle it."

"You gotta stop." She rolls her eyes, a grin that she can't suppress stretching her mouth. Rick continues to grumble. "You ain't funny."

"I'm hilarious."

Her head is still resting on his shoulder, and the contact feels nice. The joking aside, June is only just beginning to realise how much Rick means to her. It is getting to a dangerous point where she cannot imagine her life without him in it...doesn't _want_ a life that Rick Flag is not part of...even if it meant she never had the accident that led her to the Enchantress. And that is an unnerving thought.

* * *

 **A/N** A nice interlude chapter here, even if doesn't add much to the overall plot.

Thank you very much for your reviews last chapter - I am glad to hear that so many people are still enjoying this story past it's beginning phase. I hope you all continue to stick with it.

Please let me know your thoughts on this chapter. It really does make my day to read them!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	15. Chapter 15

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 15**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

He leaves June to make the bed. She's got some weird, precise way of doing it that he apparently messes up – he didn't realise straightening the pillows took a mathematical algorithm, but with her it did. He smirks to himself thinking about it, a cigarette between his lips. He plucks it out, exhaling smoke. He's stood out on the porch – the lip of the roof offering no shade from the already sweltering heat. Its early morning, and June will catch the bus to work in about thirty minutes. It's been a little over three weeks and he already pretty much has her daily routine figured out.

Rick squints slightly in the sun, looking out over the street of small family houses with parched lawns and big cars. It's the kind of lower-middle class family life he had envisioned as a young man, but never actually thought he would get. The tattoos on his arms and chest remind him of that past and Rick rubs at his left shoulder absentmindedly. He hears the porch doors from the living room open and June steps out to join him. She settles herself down in one of the old, cheap plastic camping chairs left over by the previous owner, clutching a mug of green tea. She's dressed neatly in a shirt and trousers – there must be some kind of important meeting at work – and she wrinkles her nose slightly at the acrid smell of smoke. At her reaction, Rick throws the cigarette onto the driveway and steps on it – he tries not to smoke around her.

He moves to sit next to her on the second chair which is comically too-small for his tall frame.

"Got something important at work?" he asks her, glancing pointedly at the silk shirt as he chews on a thumbnail. She looks good – but he also knows that she normally wears a hoody and jeans to the office and wouldn't wear something this dressy without good reason.

"Mmm," she replies, absentmindedly – her mind clearly elsewhere – before she focuses on him. "Rob wants to discuss with the Board the possibility of another dig at the temple. We've got everything we can from what we have and we still have no idea what happened to Dzmor…" June pauses, nudging Rick's foot with her own teasingly. "You can pass that on to Waller. Department's short of cash and we need a sponsor."

He grunts in the back of his throat – a confirmation – too preoccupied to articulate a proper reply. On Grant's request, he is being taken by Amanda Waller to see the prison facility A.R.G.U.S have set up in Lousiana. June knows this – she knows his flight is at midday – but he's loath to leave her longer than he has to. Much as he'd love to, he can't fall into the cosy-cute trap of playing house with her. The truth was, whilst to their neighbours they probably looked like a normal couple, he can't afford to ignore the dark underbelly of the situation – June is intermittently possessed by a witch. She can't be left two days without supervision.

"I could drive back from Lousiana," he says, suddenly, rubbing at the stubble along his jawline as he thinks. "Do it in a day."

"A day?" June echoes, looking at him over the rim of her mug as she takes a slurp of tea. "That's like a fourteen hour drive. Why don't you just get the flight A.R.G.U.S booked for you on Friday?"

"Because that leaves you by yourself for two days."

"I'm sure Waller will find a replacement for you," she mutters, rolling her eyes – like Rick, June looks less than enthused by the idea. He grits his teeth, thinking of a stranger walking around the same house as June. Using the same bathroom. Sleeping in the bed across the hall from her. He's surprised by the rush of territorial possessiveness he feels. "What if you asked Grant or Rooster? I'd rather have someone _you_ trust watching me than someone Waller trusts," June suggests.

Rick pulls a face as he considers her idea. "…Grant would take it too seriously and Rooster wouldn't take it seriously _enough_. 'Sides, I already said that I can drive back through the night –"

"- It would actually be kind of nice not to have someone breathing down my neck for once -" June muses, speaking over him.

He looks at her as she takes another sip of her tea. " - I don't breathe down your neck," he snaps, stung. He prides himself on giving June room to do her job and live her life whilst simultaneously being there for her should anything come up. He's managed to juggle his job with the task force and fulfil his duties to her…it gets his back up when she suggests things like this – especially when she's not the only one who has made compromises. "You think I breathe down your neck?"

June throws him a soothing look, sensing his prickly temper. "Of course you don't. You're brilliant…but you know what I mean. It would be nice not to feel like a ticking time bomb that everyone is waiting on to explode."

"June, you know why we can't just leave you unattended –" he sighs - though at the moment that is almost more appealing than finding someone else to cover his shift. Still, the thought of June afraid and alone in the house by herself is enough for him not to seriously entertain the idea.

"Okay, okay," June huffs. "I know."

"But – see – the _compromise_ here is I drive back –"

" – Rick – " she whines with exasperation, now turning her attention to her phone as she scrolls through her emails. Its June's secret tactic in an arguments – diverting her interest elsewhere so as to distract them both from the fight. "It's not a compromise when it involves you driving fourteen hours straight. Just take the flight. It makes more sense."

He folds his arms, stubbornly fixing on the idea. "I'm capable of doin' it. An' it's the decision that'll effect you the least."

"I know you're capable, but I'm _saying_ …." She abruptly breaks off. "…You're jealous," June realises, suddenly, looking up from her phone. She looks at him, the broad, mousy grin that he likes so much spreading across her face.

He stops chewing on his nail, shooting a glare at her. "This is my house, too" he deflects, stubbornly – though he knows deep down he _is_ jealous. "An' I don't like the idea of some government guy with a pole up their ass walking around under _my_ roof!"

"If you say so," June sing-songs, under her breath. She stands up and to his surprise bends down to press a kiss to his cheek. "Ask Grant to move in while you're gone," she says, her lips so close to his ear they almost brush against his skin. He can feel her warm breath on his cheek. "You have nothing to worry about."

She straightens and walks back into the house. Rick takes several seconds to unfreeze himself – taken aback that when he thinks he knows exactly where he stands with June, she goes and does stuff like _this_ \- and then curses out loud, following her into the house. After the harsh sunlight outside, the living room is dark but the hallway is flooded with golden light. She's collecting her bag and papers together whilst simultaneously trying to twist her hair up into a bun that has some semblance of neatness.

"What do you mean I have nothing to worry about?" he challenges, leaning against the kitchen doorframe.

"You _know_ what I mean," she replies, distractedly – speaking through the bobby pins between her lips as she pushes the remaining few into her hair. "I gotta go – I'm going to be late for work. Enjoy…prison."

He rolls her eyes at her words. The fact that she thinks he'd enjoy this 'trip' with Amanda Waller is laughable. He watches her fly about the house and then dart towards the door – there's no use in trying to continue or win the argument. It looks like he's flying back from Lousiana on Friday. It'll be the first time they've been apart in the three weeks since they moved into the house together.

"Oh!" June exclaims, slinging her bag over her shoulder – already half-way out the door. She turns and for a minute Rick thinks she's going to come back and kiss him again. The spot on his cheek is still tingling from before. "Don't forget to ask Amanda Waller about funding for the excavation! My meeting's at three. Tell her it's in her own interests or…something. You'd be doing me a massive favour and…honestly I kind of need the brownie points at work," she admits, sheepishly.

Rick shrugs himself from the kitchen doorway and moves to stand in front of her.

"I will," he promises – hinting wryly: "I'll see you in two days."

She finally stops and bites down on her lip, looking up at him. There's no hint of smugness that he's given in to her – instead her face is surprisingly reluctant. His arm is stretched over her head, holding the front door open. "I'll miss you," she admits, tentatively.

"Yeah – you too," he mutters – knowing that it's a pathetic articulation of how he feels about the whole situation. He looks at her face closely – taking in the scattering of tiny freckles across her nose and cheeks, her ice blue eyes and light brown hair. It is by no means perfect, but it is has somehow become his favourite face in the world.

* * *

Predictably they take a private jet to Lousiana.

The cabin is sleek – plush; the A.R.G.U.S logo emblazoned on the emergency exits. Rick tries to settle in his white leather seat and enjoy the abundance of leg room on offer, but can't quite relax. All the white is too clinical – sterile. He drums his fingers absentmindedly against the arm rest and observes Waller through narrow eyes. She's sat opposite him – a small wooden table separating them. Reading glasses are propped on her nose as she takes out a thick file from her bag.

"I'm impressed," she announces, thrusting the file towards him. Rick flips it open to reveal various graphs and charts, but doesn't look at the data. "Since we enlisted the help of your task force the time between identification and extraction of targets has halved. State police are kissing my feet – they've had these meta-humans on their registers for years and haven't been able to do anything with them."

Rick folds his arms. "How close are we to being done in North Carolina?"

"We estimate another month."

"And then?"

She knows what he's asking. Waller removes her glasses, settling them carefully down on the table. "We'll see. I've got other plans in the pipeline…now that we know our initiative works, I can employ more teams like yours – expand the operation."

He presses his tongue into his cheek, unsatisfied with her answer. What plans? Did they involve June? Was she hinting that he and his squad were no longer necessary? If so, he somehow he doubts Amanda Waller is quite finished with him.

She taps a fingernail that has been painted blood red on the back of her other hand. "…How's my favourite witch?" she asks, eventually.

Rick doesn't bat an eye, but immediately becomes wary as the topic moves on to June. He wonders if A.R.G.U.S know that they went on a hike over the weekend together…he'd done his best to shake off potential tails on the way, but it was possible he'd missed something. "Dr Moone is good," he responds, cautiously. "She hasn't had any more…incidents…since you met the Enchantress. But she and her team have….stalled with their research. They're asking A.R.G.U.S for funding to revisit the temple where June – Dr Moone – became possessed or whatever."

Waller's lips twist as if she finds something funny. "Do they think that we're made of money?" He opens his mouth to reply, but apparently the question was rhetorical because she looks out of the window and continues, smoothly: "I'll see if we can get the funds together – but tell Dr Moone she's already asking a lot from this organisation. I don't want her thinking that she can take advantage of our generosity."

Rick supresses a snort with difficulty. Generosity? It was somewhat hypocritical of _Amanda Waller_ to accuse anyone of taking advantage of another person.

Waller must catch the scepticism on his face, however, because she turns back to face him. Something in her hooded gaze has turned steely - dangerous. "I hope you're not going soft, Flag," she says – in a casual tone of voice that warns Rick he's really in trouble. "I'll have you know that we have been _very_ generous to Dr Moone. Generous enough to put her up in a house like a _normal_ human being instead of locking her up in Belle Reve...when you see this place, you'll understand the extent of my _kindness_."

He swallows back a sneer. "I think you misunderstood me: I ain't here because of June," he says. "I'm here for my men. They deserve to know what it is exactly they're involved in."

She looks at him coldly. "I hope you're not hinting at mutiny in my ranks, Colonel."

"No…I told you we'd work for you. But with all due respect, ma'am, trust works both ways."

Even Waller knows not to push him further than this. She falls silent for the rest of the journey and Rick stares out the window. They're flying low and the sky is clear enough that he can see land unfurled beneath him – the grid-like cities of Texas and the vast swathes of farm land and cornfields. He judges that they can't be much further from Lousiana.

To his surprise, instead of landing at the state airport they touch-down on a landing-strip in the middle of a swamp. The sky is a dark grey the colour of soiled ben linens and there is a slight drizzle in the humid air – blurring Belle Reve into an equally grey ribbon of buildings that blends in invisibly with the landscape. Everything hugs the ground so closely here that Rick can see for miles – flood plains, as far as the eye can see, with the prison a soggy island in the center.

They're transported by means of a small ferry to the mainland, and he thinks he sees an alligator slide through the muddy water beside them, but he can't be sure. The whole place stinks, as if an open sewer is seeping into the swampland.

"Wow," he says, sarcastically, as he and Waller disembark onto a slippy, partly rotting jetty. "Looks like they really rolled out the red carpet for you."

"They don't need to make a show for me," Waller replies evenly as they are escorted through the first checkpoint. "This is a private prison contracted to A.R.G.U.S. We own the whole thing. 100%."

It doesn't surprise him.

Rick's trained eye tells him that the run-down aesthetics are merely to deter visitors; the place is practically a fortress. Still, a fortress isn't enough to hold a meta-human if it's got the right powers. He vividly remembers the time Rooster got an unexpected surprise when they tried to capture one that could walk through walls. He figures each cell would have to have been personalised for each inmate and rigorously tested beforehand. Not to mention all the extra security they'd need. He wonders what the break out rate is…probably high, which begs the question: why did Waller bother investing so much money into this place at all?

They're met at the entrance to the main building by guys wearing enough gear to look as if they're entering a war zone. Rick squints through the thin sheet of rain at them, raising his eyebrows when he spots that one of them is carrying an M4 Carbine – a powerful select fire assault rifle. They're packing some serious heat for prison guards, though he's experienced enough to know that big guns rarely mean a level playing field when meta-humans are involved.

One of the men, a tall guy with an obnoxious looking face and a strangely cavalier attitude steps up to Waller. His broad grin makes him stand out when the rest of his men have stoically grim expressions. "Welcome to the jungle."

"Flag, this is Captain Griggs," Waller introduces the man. "He runs this place."

"Huh," Rick mutters, unimpressed as far as first impressions go. He values honour and guts in soldiers, and he can immediately tell that Grigg's possesses neither of these qualities.

The man calls Griggs glances at Waller. "This our guy?"

"Yep."

"Huh," Griggs echoes Rick, giving him a once over. "You two packing?"

By answer Waller places her hands on her hips, shifting her suit jacket enough to reveal an old-school Smith-and-Wesson strapped to a concealed chest holster. Rick merely raises both eyebrows – not about to dignify Griggs by telling him that he obviously has a fully-automatic Glock strapped to his hip beneath his shirt.

"Okay then – lets start the tour." Griggs assures them into the building – passing through a heavy door that requires a security pass and six pin code. There is no sign of the features of a normal state prison – such as a waiting room or reception. Instead, Rick finds himself immediately in a grimy tunnel, barely lit by broken white panel lights fixed to the ceiling.

"Wait, we're goin' in with just you?" he asks Griggs, sceptically.

"Oh, it's cool, man," Griggs throws over his shoulder. "I'm pretty sure I'm invincible. Like, I'm 99% sure I can't die. Word of caution, though: don't go too close to the bars. Saw one guy got his throat ripped out, _was not pretty_ let me tell you!"

Rick throws a look at Waller. What kind of meta-human could rip another man's throat out? He feels like he's at some kind of zoo. "Is he on somethin'?" he mutters to her under his breath, his voice barely more than a grunt. Drips fall from the ceiling, thin puddles collecting on the cement floor.

"The guards have to go through more rigorous searches than the inmates," Waller replies, unconcerned. "He's clean when he's on duty."

Rick picks up on the distinction and wonders why the hell Waller's enlisted a bunch of crack heads to guard her prized facility. Maybe this was all some kind of joke. Maybe you had to be a criminal to be willing to work this closely with criminals. "Great," he says, under his breath.

At the end of a tunnel is another door guarded by two soldiers – a man sitting in an office visible through a hatch in the wall waves them through. Rick thinks he can make out an elaborate miniature golf course set up on the threadbare carpet using screwed up paperwork and coffee mugs…was _anybody_ doing any work down here?

"So how many of these guys have been put here by me, personally?" Rick checks, as they step out onto a corridor with thick, reinforced steel doors. In large letters, the words _C BLOCK_ are spray-painted in white across the wall, almost in a scrawl – as if whoever wrote it did it in a hurry.

"Belle Reve functions as a jail for meta-humans across the US," Waller says, her heels rapping smartly against the ground as Griggs leads them through C Block. "It's high security, meaning we can move inmates from Arkam Asylum in Gotham without any potential outside contacts knowing. We moved Harley Quinn down here just so the Joker would stop busting her out. Of the hundred inmates we have, I'd estimate about thirty are here because of you."

At the mention of Harley Quinn, Griggs perks up. "Yeah, we got all the food groups here - the crazies. The monsters. The low-level skinny-ass meth dealers from the corner street that can do some wicked-ass magic tricks – but that girl is somethin' else, let me tell you." Rick doesn't like the way Grigg's leers as he talks about her – he also doesn't like the way his tone is almost admiring. These were bad guys, after all.

Griggs and Waller's voices are heard by the inmates either side of them and – though Rick can't see them – a chorus of cat calls and swear words rent the air. Rick stoically ignores it, but he can't help but grit his jaw. He feels as if he's arrived in hell; he's surrounded by scumbags and it looks as if the building itself is rotting – as if the ceiling will give way at any minute and dump a lake of swamp water on their heads. Worst of all: Amanda Waller doesn't seem to care. She doesn't so much as blink at the string of abuse and every now and then a dull bulb riddled with moths will catch a strange glint in her eye. Satisfaction.

"Here we are," Griggs announces – swiping his security pass on the final door which Rick presumes leads to the very heart of Belle Reve. "The main attraction."

The door swings open and they step out onto a narrow walkway. Below them is a large room – the only light for which streams down from a skylight in the ceiling, vaguely green from the ancient algae growing on the glass. In a cage – hanging from knotted sheets like a trapize artist, is a woman with filthy, bedraggled blonde hair. She instantly sees them coming and gracefully pirouettes down the material to land neatly on the floor.

"Have you brought more guys for me to kill?!" she calls out, petulantly – her voice almost child-like. "'Cause I will – every last one of your men - I swear it! I wanna see Mister J!"

"You wanna see her without her clothes on?" Griggs asks, leaning over to mutter in Rick's ear in what he clearly thinks is a subtle undertone. "I've got pictures on my phone of that shit – she'll, like, strip in front of all the guys. Free show. Then she tries to kill us - obviously," he adds, thoughtfully. "But you know, it's almost worth a coupla' the guys getting strangled every once in a while."

Rick shoots him a disgusted look, unable to hold his disdain in any longer. "You are _literally_ the world's worst soldier – you know that right?"

Griggs squints one eye, thinking. "I don't know? The 'worst'?"

"Yeah. The worst."

"In the world, though?"

"Yeah."

Griggs lets out a low whistle. " _Wow._ "

"I _SAID_ –" Harley Quinn yells – her pitiful whine abruptly turning to a screeching shout without warning. "I _WANT_ TO SEE MISTER J! YOU CAN'T KEEP ME HERE! YOU HEAR ME? I SEE YOU STANDIN' THERE LADY – LEMME OUT!" She rattles the bars for emphasis and Waller slowly makes her way down the steps onto Harley Quinn's level. Rick isn't so sure it's a good idea – but follows her down anyway.

"Even someone like Harley Quinn can be controlled," Waller tells Rick, her voice smooth and quiet. "The Joker broke her, but she's not so crazy that she can't be used."

The girl's fallen silent - eyeing them through her tangled sheet of hair – quiet and watchful – but as they approach she tilts her head, revealing her face once more. " _You_ –" she grins at Rick, pressing her body against the bars in an effort to get closer to him. She licks her lips slowly in a clear attempt at seduction, her eyes dark and inviting. "I haven't seen _you_ here before."

Griggs groans appreciatively from somewhere behind him, but Rick merely stops a few feet away from the cage, folding his arms. "No," he replies. "You haven't."

Quinn sighs, registering his taciturn attitude and quickly dropping the act, pouting. "Taken, huh?"

He doesn't respond. Up close he can see the manic glint in her eye. She's so thin she looks ill and her skin is a shade of sickly pale the same washed-out colour as her hair. He almost feels bad for her – almost.

" _Come on,"_ Harley wheedles, wrapping her fingers round the bars once more. "You know what it's like to be in love?" Her eyes search his impassive face and she nods to herself confidently. "I _know_ you do. You know how bad I wanna see my puddin' again. Just let me out of here. Just do it. For true love. I need to surprise him – it's his _birthday_ soon."

He's not sure what planet the chick's living on – or what medication they're giving her – to make her think he would _actually_ step forward and let her out of that cage. He turns to Waller, incredulous.

"She ever talk about anything but the Joker?"

"They're the King and Queen of Gotham. They're sort of a package deal. Two halves of a whole. Separating them caused a whole lot of trouble."

He turns his back on Harley Quinn and the moment he does so, she starts up with the yelling again – it echoes banshee-like round the room. "HEY! _HEY_! DON'T TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!" she screams. "LET ME OUTTA HERE. _I'LL KILL YOU!_ I'll HUNT YOU DOWN –"

The leave the room and Grigg's shuts the door, shrugging as the lock clicks. "Crazy, but hot."

"Shouldn't she be in an asylum?" Rick asks Waller, pointedly ignoring the guard who's increasingly getting on his nerves.

Waller seems unconcerned – now leading him down a corridor called _B BLOCK._ Like the hallways before, there are no bars round the cells, just reinforced metal doors with sliding hatches. "It suits my purposes to have her here."

"She's sick in the head."

"Careful, Flag, or I might think you like playing hero to damsels in distress."

Rick makes a sound in the back of his throat as he remembers how hard Harley had tried to manipulate him. "That girl is a lot'a things, but she ain't no damsel in distress."

He's tense for the rest of the tour. Not just because a good thirty percent of the inmates are here because of him – or because he witnesses one of the guards get choked to unconsciousness when a prisoner grabs them through the bars - but because he's unsettled by the blatant neglect of both the inmates and the rules. Belle Reve isn't just a hole – it's a hole that no one cares about; nobody knows about. Maybe he's been around June too long, or maybe it's the thought of June _herself_ being here – locked in a cage like Harley Quinn - that makes him so antsy. Either way, it's worrying to think that both the government and society are happy for Waller to pick criminal meta-humans up off the street with little semblance of procedure and throw them into little more than a pit.

"So?" she asks him, as they return to their starting point. "What do you think?"

He preoccupies himself with unwrapping a piece of gum instead of acting on the urge to smoke - sticking it in his mouth. Next to him on the wall someone has painted an image of the grim reaper. It's not as clever or ironic as they think it is – even now, the paint is fading and peeling. He shrugs. "They're bad guys. Criminals."

Waller looks at him. "But?"

"…They're still human."

"They're the lowest life forms walking on this planet. If you knew half of the things that Quinn girl has done, you wouldn't be so sympathetic."

"One of them – one day – they're gonna escape. That crazy chick in there? She'll come for you."

"One day," Waller agrees.

He glances at her. "You don't care?"

"Believe it or not, my job is to make them useful. We're not just going to plough money into this place to keep them here indefinitely. We break them down so we can use them. It's a cycle."

He nods, chewing on his gum. "So what's the evil master plan?"

He's surprised when she actually answers – the question only meant as another barb. A joke. "An elite, meta-human squad of criminals," Waller replies, calmly. "One we can send in under the most dangerous circumstances. If they get killed, nobody cares. If they get caught, we have built in deniability."

He should have known: Amanda Waller was all about maximum efficiency. But Rick reckons she's bitten off more than she can chew with Belle Reve. He wonders if she's actually seeing what he's seeing: that they're all completely uncontrollable. Rick has spent years drilling different soldiers; the strict, unbreaking nature of the training they received enabled his men to function in high-pressure situations…He'd teach the recruits something 2,500 times until it was muscle memory. Until it counteracted every basic human instinct. You stuck your ground. You had your team's back. You kept going no matter what. He was _proud_ of that training – of their rules. It meant that, on the day, his guys functioned in life and death situations.

But down here there _were_ no rules. It was a zoo in there – a living hell. Anarchy.

He shakes his head. "You'll never get them to listen to you. They'll never do what you say. Doesn't matter what you do to them…it's not gonna work. They can't be trained."

Waller's eyes glint and her mouth curves into a slight smirk. She turns her face up to look at his. "Not if you're in possession of the best Special Forces team in the country."

His eyes widen as he understands just exactly why she agreed to let him come here in the first place.

* * *

That evening Rick discards his jacket and flops back onto the bed in his hotel room. He holds his wrist up above his head, checking his watch - surprised to see that it's barely seven o clock – that June will have just got home from work. It feels like he spent ages in Belle Reve, when in fact he was only there two hours.

He phones her, if only to hear her voice. He wants to be distracted from the fact that what he has seen has left a bad taste in his mouth. He wants to distract himself from the fact that Amanda Waller has some crazy-ass idea that he and his men are… _capable_ of bringing those monsters to heel.

He throws his arm over his eyes as he waits for her to pick up, blocking out the light that stabs at his eyes. He feels insanely tired suddenly – and not just physically. Part of him wishes he could leave A.R.G.U.S right now. Just hand in his resignation. But he can't. He can't leave his guys for starters; he couldn't leave June.

"Hi – it's me," he says, the moment he hears her answer the call.

" _Hi_!" unlike Rick, June's voice is chirpy and excited: a stark contrast to his muffled, exhausted tone.

"How are you?" he mutters.

" _Good – the meeting went well and we've been allowed to go ahead with the dig. Rob's thinking we'll set out at the end of next month."_

He tries to think, but his mind feels sluggish - slow. "That's in four weeks, right?"

" _Yeah_ … _how was your day? You sound –"_ she hesitates and tails off and he smiles to himself.

"I don't know. I'm still not exactly sure what I saw," he says, moving the arm over his eyes to pillow his hand behind his head. "It's so crazy at that place. The guards are literally worse than the inmates – think the whole thing's some kind of joke. I swear there was this one dude – I was about _this_ close to takin' my gun an' shoving it so far up his rear end –"

June's snort of laughter is physically cleansing. Unconsciously – for her – he warps the experience: tries to focus on the darkly funny and bizarre stuff rather than the insane, evil things.

" – I'm serious –" he interjects, smirking.

" _Uhuh_."

"What are you doing right now?" he asks, imagining the house in the fading light. She would have come home and instantly changed out of that silk shirt into something comfier – her sweatpants and that holey pink t shirt she liked to wear. In his minds eye, he imagines her undressing.

" _Um, I think Grant's about to cook. By the way - when I came home there were four other guys from your squad in our kitchen."_

Her tone is an amusing mixture of horrified and accusatory, but he's too preoccupied by her casual use of 'our' to care. "Wow, the whole team, huh?" he mumbles, looking up at the ceiling. He can imagine it – the guys all together. It's been a long time since they had a bonding session…it would be good for them.

" _Yeah. Let me tell you, there is way too much testosterone in this house right now. I need to, like, even out the gender teams."_

"Four against one. I like your odds."

Her response is peevish. " _I just wanted to get home from work…have a bubble bath and watch Downton Abbey."_

He rolls his eyes. "How are you?"

" _You've already asked me that_ ," she points out – characteristically pedantic.

"Yeah, but I'm not askin' about how work went, June."

" _Oh_ ," she pauses, considering. " _I'm fine. Nothing to report."_

' _I'm fine'_ \- he's never going to believe her when she says that unless he can verify her for himself in person. "You're alright?" he pushes, double checking when he hears the hesitancy in her voice.

"… _I miss having you around,"_ she admits.

He grins. "Well, I _said_ I could drive up and get back Thursday instead of Friday –" Though that wouldn't go down well with Waller: they were supposed to be in meetings with investors all of tomorrow.

She groans – he can hear her walking round the house. " _Don't start up again_."

"Well…you're just gonna have to wait then, June" he teases.

" _Patience isn't my strongest suit._ "

It normally was Rick's. His self-restraint was impressive. It took a lot for him to snap…but right now he's impatient, too. Restless. The last thing he wants to do is spend the next day in a stuffy boardroom representing A.R.G.U.S. He feels himself physically yearning for the house and June. He's never felt anything like this before – as if there's a giant chunk of his life missing without her at his side.

Seeing Belle Reve had reminded him of many things…how much he valued his men – the lengths he would go to to protect June and keep her from harm.

"…I miss having you around, too," he replies, honestly.

June sighs on the other end of the line. " _Just one more day and one more night_." She sums up. " _Easy._ "

"Easy," he agrees.

One day and one night…It felt like forever.

He holds the mobile away from his head momentarily. _Man up_ , he tells himself sternly, rubbing at his eyes hard. _You're acting like a teenage girl_.

"Listen," he says, pulling himself together and pressing the phone back to his ear. "I'll phone you tomorrow night alrigh'?"

"… _Okay – I - bye."_

There's a thin sliver of tension in the moment of silence she leaves, as if she was about to say something else. For some reason, it makes Rick's heart jump.

"Bye June."

He hangs up and casts his phone down on the empty pillow next to him.

* * *

 **A/N** Another, longer chapter. It was so much fun to begin to tie in some more of the movie elements here.

Also, I loved David Ayer's stylistic choices for Suicide Squad and I think if he'd been left with the film a bit longer it could have been a lot better. He made the film a unique combination of gritty realism and surreal fantasy. I tried to work with those elements when I was imagining Belle Reve.

As you can see, Rick now knows Amanda Waller has plans for Task Force X (and he met Harley Quinn and Griggs!)

I hope you enjoyed this chapter as much as the last one - thank you for all your kind reviews. The response I got when Chapter 14 was uploaded was incredible, and I'm so glad you like the developing relationship between Rick and June.

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N** The Rating on this story has now been bumped up to **M**. Enjoy ;)

* * *

 **WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 16**

* * *

 _ **June**_

The bed chamber is cavernous and large – allowing the music to echo around the room. A young group of musicians are playing smooth, charming music – lutes and soft shakers combining to create an elusive rhythm. There is a large bed in the center of the room, piled high with rich, vibrantly coloured fabrics. Sat on it is Dzmor, a satisfied smile on her lips as another young woman twists and braids her hair into an elaborate coil down her back. She is stunning – an all-together different woman to the one June remembers. Her figure is no longer emaciated but strong and healthy. Gone is the dark, pulsating cloud that usually cloaked her – replaced by a soft, rosy aura. Two slaves stand by the bed – one fans her with a large frond, the other clutches a copper wine jug. Every person in the room seems to be entirely dedicated to Dzmor's comfort and welfare.

"My great and beautiful Princess." A man with a shaved head, wearing long white robes and with a hole in his ear lobe stretched to accommodate what closely resembles a smooth, circular gold coin enters the room. "Prince Hathor has sent you more gifts, in the hope that you will consider his marriage proposal more seriously."

Dzmor's eyes light up – excited. All traces of bitterness and neglect have vanished from her face, leaving only warmth and an almost child-like eagerness. " _More_?" she asks, her voice uncomprehending as she gently pushes the woman braiding her hair away from her. "But he has already sent so much!"

The man bows his head in acknowledgement. "He says that you deserve the world, Princess…and everything and everyone in it."

Her skin flushes pink at these words – clearly flattered – and it takes her a moment to compose herself. "Well?" she asks, craning her neck as she attempts to see past the messenger. "What has he sent me?"

He smiles slightly and claps his hands twice. Into the room file two beautiful women and two handsome men. They are dressed in the thinnest silks, their skin bronze and their hair combed. They stand tall and proud – their chins raised – and Dzmor's eyes widen at the sight of them.

"Slaves," she says, almost sounding a little disappointed. "I already have slaves."

"Ah, but these are not any slaves, Princess," the man explains, patiently. His eyes flick about the room. " _Out_ ," he commands to the rest of the servants, who obey instantly. The musicians lower their instruments but the messenger shakes his head. "Not you. Keep playing." He returns his gaze to Dzmor, who is now perched on the end of her bed – alone and confused as the quiet music begins once again. "…these are _special_ servants, your majesty," he continues. "Provided for your own pleasure."

"I don't understand."

"Then let Zara show you." He nods to the first woman – slightly older than Dzmor - with her long hair swept over one shoulder.

She dutifully approaches the bed and takes the younger woman's hand. "You must stand, Princess," she says, smiling softly at the girl's flushed cheeks.

As if in a daze, the Enchantress allows herself to be pulled to her feet. The music continues softly – seductively. The slave woman threads her fingers through Dzmor's one by one, taking her time.

"Relax," she teases – seeing the rigidity in the Princess's back and shoulders…and then she bends her head down to kiss her. Dzmor gasps sharply as the woman's lips capture her own firmly but gently, but does not withdraw. June wonders if this is the first time she has ever been kissed – ever felt a touch this intimate. The Enchantress's eyes are bright with excitement and curiosity as the woman trails her other hand down her throat, gently brushing her fingers over Dzmor's covered breast. The aura about her pulsates even more brightly in response and the woman instantly jerks back as if burned – casting an uncertain, wary look at the messenger.

His eyes are hard and unrelenting. "Continue," he instructs her, coolly.

She presses her lips together unhappily but nods, taking in the Princess's wide-eyed expression before cupping her breast firmly in one hand and dragging her thumb over the nipple. She begins to place soft, open-mouthed kisses against her neck and Dzmor lets out a breathy moan when one of the men stealthily appears behind her, wrapping his arms around her stomach, his large hands grazing her hips. He tugs at the ties round her neck and back, causing the rich blue fabric of her dress to fall away from her chest and gather round her waist. With practiced skill, the woman pushes the dress all the way down as the man gently pushes Dzmor back onto the bed. The soft aura of light becomes stronger and greater as her arousal builds.

In her sleep, June twitches as the memory becomes blurry and unfocused. Less visual – more sensational. She catches glimpses of five beautiful people tangled together on a bed, sees – or feels – a hand snake between a pair of legs. A lick up her throat. A hand clutching her breast. She squirms, moaning in her sleep.

"You're insanely good at this –" she gasps out the words with a smirk.

The vision abruptly shifts to June on her hands and knees on their bed, entirely naked. Rick is on his knees behind her, his hands clutching at her hips bruisingly as he rams into her. Both their skin is slick with sweat and the room is filled with the erotic sound of panted breathing and their bodies slapping together. June tries to look over her shoulder to catch his reaction to her words.

Rick tangles his hand in his hair and jerks her up onto her knees, pulling her back flush against his chest as he continues to pound up into her. Her breasts bounce with the force of his thrusts and she moans out loud at the delicious change in position – arching her back. She reaches behind her to steady herself on his thighs. The feel of him inside her and around her all at once is intoxicating.

"Mmm, I've heard that one before," he murmurs into her ear, and she laughs breathlessly before crying out as he hits a particularly sensitive spot – throwing her head back onto his shoulder.

With a shout, June jerks upright in bed – waking up. Her head automatically turns to look to Rick's side of the bed, but it's empty. She presses her hand to her forehead, trying to slow her panting breathing. Her heart is hammering in her chest and there's a slick, aching feeling between her legs – her body is covered in sweat, the sheets sticking to her legs and hips – her hair plastered to the back of her neck.

"What the –?" she gasps, trying to calm herself down.

She rips the covers off of her body and climbs out of bed, moving to throw her window open to allow some cooler air into the room. For a full five minutes, June paces up and down her bedroom, trying to gain some semblance of control over herself. She debates taking a cold shower, but remembers Grant sleeping in the next room and figures that that will only lead to awkward questions.

June can't even _look_ at the bed without feeling a tightness in her lower belly – and the thought of Rick has her biting down on her so lip hard she tries to skip over notions of him entirely. She's never been this worked up before in her life. She pauses in front of the mirror to look at her reflection. By the dim moonlight, she can just about make out her tangled hair and wild, feverish eyes. When she presses the backs of her palms against her cheeks, her skin is burning to touch. She barely recognises herself.

June takes a deep breath, trying to regain a semblance of self control.

She doesn't have to wonder what had triggered the Dzmor's memory…she'd gone to bed day-dreaming in detail about that _exact_ scenario between her and Rick. Her own need for satiation must have pulled out _that_ particular memory of Dzmor's. June remembers the almost drunk look on the young Princess's face…she had gone from living in a dark cell – being called a monster all of her life - to being worshipped as a deity. No wonder she had accepted the…gifts…so hungrily. So greedily.

But she couldn't blame her own feelings of greed and hunger on that – it was one, very specific person that June wanted.

The green glow of her digital alarm clock tells her that it's some time past two o clock in the morning. She groans, dropping to sit on the side of the bed and running her hands through her hair. There is no way – _no way_ – she is going to be able to sleep after this.

* * *

True to expectations, the next morning June is sleep-deprived and grumpy. She goes through the daily motions at work without truly focusing on what she is doing. For the first time in a very long time, she doesn't waste energy worrying about the six-thousand year old witch inside of her or attempt to deconstruct the memory she's witnessed. She's in such a bad mood that even Melissa refrains from any cutting remarks and it is to June's relief when she arrives home that evening that her home is not packed out with large, sweaty soldiers.

It is just Grant, standing over the stove stirring pasta, and June breathes out a deep sigh of relief.

The dark haired young man throws a look over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "Bad day?"

"Something like that," she replies, dropping her bag onto the kitchen table. She sniffs at the air, smelling an enticing mix of Italian herbs and spices. "What are you making?"

"Double-whammy arrabbiata."

"Um, what?"

"I use chillies in the sauce and dried chillies in the pangrattato for double the hit," he explains, slinging a tea towel over his shoulder as he throws two cloves of garlic into a frying pan. "It's an old Edward's family recipe."

"Okay, I have no idea what pangrattato is, but it sounds like you know what you're doing."

June had quickly discovered that Rick's second-in-command, Grant Edwards, was an odd mix of cocky and upbeat and morose and serious – flickering between the two, without warning, like a light switch. He was also a fantastic cook and insanely good-looking.

"Pangrattato is basically Italian for grated bread," Grant explains.

"You need to come over and cook dinner for me more often," she grins, opening one of the kitchen draws and gathering a fistful of knives and forks to lay the table with. "Rick and I aren't exactly the best chefs."

"Oh, it's 'you-and-Rick' now, is it?" Grant challenges, grinning.

June's cheeks warm, and she can't think of a good reply quickly enough. She's not great with the guys' quick-fire banter. Last night had been a nightmare of crass remarks and impromptu wrestling matches. Just when she thought Rooster was being nice and actually paying Grant a compliment ("You look good, Edwards – you been working out?") - it was instantly turned into something juvenile and stupid ("Yeah. With your Mom.") June hadn't known whether to laugh or tear her hair out. She had no idea how Rick managed to get them all in line.

She and Grant have an unspoken agreement where she sets the table and washes the dishes, and he cooks her complicated, restaurant-style meals. So far, it's worked well for them.

"So, how long have you and Rick known each other?" she asks, when Grant settles her plate down in front of her. He's not dressed in uniform, but June notices that his gun is all-too-casually lying within reach in his unclipped holster on the kitchen counter.

"Oh man," Grant says, sitting down opposite her and picking up his knife and fork. "About seven years now? We did a couple of tours together in Afghanistan."

June takes her first mouthful of pasta and splutters as she swallows – the lining of her throat abruptly feeling like it's on fire.

Grant chuckles, glancing up at her reaction. "It's hot, right?"

" _Yes_ –" June gasps, her eyes watering as she reaches for her glass of water, gulping half of it down straight away. She takes her next bite gingerly, and it goes down easier now that she's expecting the kick – she can actually pick out the delicious tomatoey taste of the dish. "How did you guys, um, end up in Special Forces together?" she asks, attempting to pretend that her eyes aren't watering profusely.

Grant shrugs, skewering a piece of pasta with his fork. "Word got out about the good work our squadron were doing out there and Rick and I both got offers to join. I went over and Rick stayed another year and a bit to clear up. He got my job leading the team when he transferred over."

"And you didn't mind?" June asks, surprised. If someone took her position, she'd be furious, but Grant is talking like it was the obvious decision. She realises with clarity that no matter how much Rick tells her about his life as a soldier, she will never truly understand the bond he shares with men like Grant or vice versa. It's a relationship formed through a unique experience – one she will never have – and it's obvious in the way Grant talks that they trust and understand each other implicitly.

"Rick's the best at what he does. I get the job done, but Rick gets the job done and makes sure everyone gets home safe _and_ he fills out all the paperwork and he sweet-talks the politicians."

"I guess that's why Amanda Waller chose him to be head of her task-force."

Grant pauses mid-chew, his green eyes fixed on her unwaveringly. June up looks at him. "What?"

"Rick hasn't told you?" he asks, slowly.

"Told me what?"

Grant makes an embarrassed sound as he scratches at the back of his neck, clearly regretting having said anything. "I mean – it's not a big deal, but –"

" – what hasn't he told me -?"

" – it really doesn't matter –"

" _Grant._ "

"He – er – he stepped down. I run the task force now."

June blinks, momentarily stunned. "But…that doesn't make sense," she protests, her heartbeat stalling as several different scenarios flash through her mind – each one worse than the last. "He's gone three days a week and he's out two nights a week, where's he going?!"

"Whoa there –" Grant holds up his fork, waving down her panic. "I said he doesn't _run_ the task force, not that he isn't part of the team. He wanted me to take over so he had time to…focus on other things," he explains, raising an eyebrow at her pointedly.

June blushes and she looks down at her plate. "…oh," she mutters.

They lapse into silence as she tries to work out how she feels. Guilty and confused, mainly. Grant's just spent most of dinner telling her how great Rick is at what he does before breaking it to her that he gave it up to look after her. It feels like there's a hard piece of coal lodged in her stomach, and June abruptly doesn't feel hungry anymore. Over the past week, she'd lapsed into a false sense of security – allowed herself to enjoy the life they had going together in the house. That pretty picture is now crumbling down around her. It's not perfect when Rick has had to make so many compromises and sacrifices. She feels awful that her crappy, messed-up mistake has proved to be so costly for him as well as her.

"Hey…" Grant says, to catch her attention. The self-loathing must be written all over her face. "Don't go feeling bad about it, just…y'know, don't take him for granted. He…he likes you a lot, June. He _wants_ to be here."

June sighs, knowing that he's right. Rick had tried to tell her this when they'd gone hiking. He'd told her that they were in this together no matter what. And she knew that – she did. But it didn't change the fact that she would never stop feeling guilty that he was involved at all.

She felt morose and dejected. She was missing Rick and she was tired. It wasn't a good combination.

"You'll be pleased to know that I haven't invited the guys round for dessert," Grant teases, trying to lightly change the subject.

"That _is_ a relief," June agrees, wryly, pushing her food round her plate. "What are you planning on doing tonight?"

Grant shrugs. "I brought the entire boxset of _Family Guy_ with me."

She snorts, but spends the evening watching it with him anyway. It reminds her of Jamie, because he used to watch it constantly when they were growing up together. Grant laughs in places she doesn't think are funny, and complains loudly about the state of the old, leather couch – but it's nice – and June's so tired that she drops off to sleep on the other side of the sofa pretty quick.

" _June_?" she hears Grant whisper.

She cracks her eyes open blearily. It's completely dark outside and the only light in the room comes from the lamp next to the TV. There's an irritating ringing sound nearby, but she can't identify where it's coming from.

"Whazzgoinon?" she mumbles, trying to unstick her face from the armrest. She thinks she might have drooled a little.

"I think Rick's trying to phone you," Grant mutters, holding her phone out to her.

June sits bolt upright, wide awake. "Oh my God," she says, snatching the phone out of his grip.

Grant rolls his eyes at her response, speaking before she can answer the call: "They're saying a pretty bad storms going to hit tomorrow night," he says, pointing to the TV where a weather map is showing. An angry red splodge sits directly across North Carolina – the words, _weather warning_ gliding across the bottom of the screen. "I don't think he's going to be able to fly back tomorrow."

" _What_?" June gasps, but the phone continues to insistently ring and she answers it quickly before Grant can reply. "Rick!?"

" _Hey_."

"Have you seen the news?" she asks, anxiously, cradling the phone to her ear. Grant hovers over her for a moment before tactfully moving to the kitchen.

" _Yeah. Yeah – I'm lookin' at it right now_."

"So you're...not coming home tomorrow?"

He heaves a deep sigh before speaking. " _Doesn't look like it June_."

She bites down on her lip, unable to stop the crashing wave of disappointment. "When do you think you'll be back?" she asks, trying to keep her voice casual and even and failing miserably.

" _Maybe Sunday…listen you're not goin' to work tomorrow, are you?"_

"No. They're telling people to stay inside."

" _And you're stocked up on food, right?_ "

She rolls her eyes. "Rick, it's a storm, not the ice-age."

But it's clear he's not in the mood for bullshit tonight. " _June."_

" _Yes_. We have food. Me and Grant'll just…stay inside the entire weekend, I guess." She winces as she says it. It doesn't exactly sound safe – to be cooped up just the two of them together. She's about over-due another accident, and she doesn't want to wind up hurting Grant.

But she can hear a smile curving Rick's lips on the other side of the phone. " _Sounds fun_ ," he mocks.

"Mmm," she replies, trying to distract herself from her fretting by half-heartedly teasing: " _Way_ more fun than a weekend with Amanda Waller."

" _Thanks_ ," he replies, wryly. " _Be careful."_

She sighs. The storm wasn't the issue here, but Rick had never been willing to admit that the primary danger was _her_. "I'll keep you posted _."_

" _Good…say hi to Grant."_

"Mhhmm." There's silence on the other end of the line so she adds: "I'll…see you when I see you, I guess."

" _Yeah_."

She waits again – hoping that he'll add something or tell her that he misses her, but he doesn't. She sighs. "Bye Rick."

His voice becomes soft – as if sensing her disappointment. She decides to attribute his untalkative attitude to stress and exhaustion rather than callousness. " _Bye June_."

She hangs up and Grant walks back into the room. She looks up at him – already they can both hear the first rain drops tapping lightly against the window ominously.

"Um, so, the bad news is, Rick's not getting back until Sunday," she begins, wincing slightly as she talks. "So you're…sort of stuck in the house with me for the weekend."

"With Armageddon raging outside, nowhere to run and a girl possessed by a witch for company," Grant surmises, flopping back down onto the sofa next to June and flipping the channel back to _Family Guy_. "Awesome," he mutters.

* * *

 **A/N** So this chapter kind of delivers and it kind of doesn't. There's some Rick/June smut, but it's a dream sequence and also...Rick still isn't home. Sorry guys!

In terms of one-shots and when this story ends, I can't make any promises about one-shots, but I would definitely have some fun ideas if I were to write a few when this is finished. I'm planning on writing this fic up to the point where Rick and the team save June. Don't worry, there's still a lot of story left.

I read all your reviews for last chapter and I appreciate the thoughts shared in every single comment. The consistent support 'With The Lights Out' has been receiving is something special.

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	17. Chapter 17

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 17**

* * *

 _ **June**_

The storm hits with full force on Friday afternoon. High winds rattle the window panes and the sheer amount of rain coming down from the sky quickly turns the yard into a muddy swamp. June watches anxiously out the window, worried that the oak tree in front of the house will be blown down.

She and Grant spend the first evening watching the weather reports on the TV. Across the coast the winds are an excess of 150 mph – physically blowing the rooves off of houses. In Charlotte, the sky seems to alternate between showering hail the size of golf balls and rumbling with thunder. At some point during the night, the lightening starts up and June is woken by a startling flash of bright white.

When she rubs at her eyes and tries to turn on her bedside lamp, the switch doesn't work. The power's out.

"This wouldn't be you, would it?" Grant jokes, meeting her in the pitch black hallway. His brown hair is stuck up at the back, but he looks too alert for the middle of the night. June wonders if he has slept at all.

"No," she huffs, feeling slightly uneasy as the wind howls loudly on the other side of the wall. The house creeks and objects bang together with a hollow, tinny sound. It's just a storm, but June has a familiar prickly feeling on the back of her neck.

She moves down the corridor to the front of the house – her bare feet silent against the wooden floorboards. "Where are you going?" Grant shout-whispers after her.

She tries the light for the hallway, but it doesn't work, either. The darkness is beginning to feel threatening – as if it's almost alive - and she slams her fist against the switch repeatedly in frustration.

" _Damn it_."

Grant watches her, exasperated. "June, just go to bed."

She looks at him and takes a deep breath. It was just a power cut. It was just a storm. She rubs her hands together, trying to heat up her chilly skin.

Reluctantly she climbs back underneath the covers in her bedroom. She thinks she hears Grant go back into his own room, but she can't be sure. Lying on her side, June faces Rick's side of the bed and tries to relax and sleep. Her eyes are just beginning to grow heavy when she sees something move in front of her face. Her heart spasms for a moment, and then she registers what looks like a thin, black snake creeping down her palm.

June screams loudly, sitting bolt upright and wringing her hand, trying to shake the thing off. But it doesn't budge and she realises too late that it's not a snake at all, but a moving tendril of darkness coiling up her arm. It's reached past her elbow.

Grant charges into the room – clutching a flashlight in one hand, his other canted across his wrist, holding a gun. She knew he had it on him – knew that he had been waiting since the moment he set foot in the house for this exact thing to happen. In that moment they are no longer friends: he is a soldier and she is a threat.

"What the hell -?" he snaps, lowering his weapon when he realises he has not come face-to-face with the Enchantress as expected.

" _Do something_!" June yells at Grant, trying to shove the thing off her shoulder with her other hand. But it's as insubstantial as smoke to her touch, despite the fact that she can feel it, tight as a tourniquet against the skin of her arm.

"What are you talking about?" Grant protests, his eyes growing wide and wild as he stares all around her – clearly not seeing what she is seeing.

The tendril travels up June's throat and she begins to panic as it separates into five different fibres – rearing up in front of her face like a deadly multi-headed snake.

" _Help me!"_ she screams at Grant in frustration as he just stands there and gapes at her – useless.

"I can't _see_ anything," he snarls back angrily – his own emotions running high as June clearly begins to panic more and more. "June, what –"

She whimpers and claws at her throat and arm desperately, leaving bloody scratch marks down her skin.

" _Stop it_ – you're hurting yourself! –"

" _GRANT!"_ she screeches, really desperate now as the darkness worms its way towards her facial orifices. Creeping up towards her ears, her nostrils – tickling her lips. "SHOOT ME! JUST SHOOT ME!" she begs – knowing that that would be a preferable way to go compared to whatever it is that's about to happen to her.

"WHAT THE HELL? I'M NOT GOING TO DO THAT!" he yells back, really panicking now. But June can't reply. She's choking, gagging as the black penetrates her – slick and cool as it slides its way inside her. Her body goes rigid and Grant drops the gun and flashlight altogether, grabbing her as she slides off the bed and onto the carpet. " _JUNE_!" he yells, hauling her to sit up against his chest to keep her airways open.

But she still can't breathe.

He's looking desperately at her, feeling at her neck and throat - trying to figure out what's wrong. His fingers turn sticky with blood from where she's clawed off parts of her own skin. He's not sure if it's a trick of the moonlight, but he thinks he can see her veins pulsating black beneath her ghostly white skin.

"JUNE, C'MON BREATHE! _BREATHE!_ "

Like _abracadabra_ , June's bedside lamp switches on. The hallway light chases away the darkness. June takes in a wheezing breath and exhales. Rain continues to lash at the windows outside.

" _Jesus Christ_ ," Grant swears, running a hand through his hair as June begins to breathe more easily. Her hand instantly flies up to touch her throat, but there's nothing there.

"What _happened_?" he asks her, slipping out from behind her to sit on the carpet at her side, leaning back heavily against the bed. June notices that he's breathing fast as well, as if he's been physically winded.

"You mean you didn't see it?" June rasps out. She still can't quite believe that there's nothing there and she's reluctant to take her eyes off of her arm, just in case 'it' returns when she's not looking.

"No – I just heard you scream so I ran in – it looked like you were having a fit or something." He looks at her closely. "What were you seeing?"

She presses her lips together, trying to fight against the overwhelming feeling of shock and hysteria that usually settle in after this kind of thing happens. She knows Grant has seen what she was like when they found her in her apartment the first time, and she's determined not to fall to pieces again. If this was going to be a regular thing in her life, she had to learn to deal with it.

"I - er – it's not important," she sniffs, hugging her knees into her chest. She still feels shaky – violated – and she feels far safer curled up like this. Her own mother had always been good at putting on a brave face for her kids. When the house sale had fallen through, or when they received another bill they couldn't pay, her Mom had never let on. It had always been June's Dad that was the give-away: sat at the kitchen table late at night with his head in his hands.

Grant doesn't look entirely convinced, but he doesn't push her either. She's relieved that he doesn't try to coddle her, but merely hauls himself to his feet, holding out his hand for her to take. "Well, you sure did a number on yourself. Let's get you cleaned up."

She looks down at the scratches that rake up the length of her arm, only just registering how badly they are beginning to sting. She can't believe she did that to herself. The panic and fear seem like a dream now…she'd been jumping at nothing – or nothing tangible, at least.

"Thanks," she smiles, weakly, taking his hand and allowing him to pull her upright.

The scratches are only shallow, so June merely sits on the lip of the bath-tub as Grant dabs a cold washcloth against her skin. June herself is a million miles away, struggling to come to terms with what had happened.

It was unnervingly clear that it had all been in her head – that was for sure. But had it all been a deliberate trick from the Enchantress, or was this merely the by-product of having a body in which dark magic now resided? June was so sure that the Enchantress meant no harm – she hadn't threatened or hurt anyone in the times she took over – but she was confused and hurt as to why she was still experiencing these episodes. Did it hold any meaning? If it did, she couldn't find any.

Grant drops the now bloody cloth into the sink and looks up at her. "I should probably say sorry for pulling a gun on you."

"I'd have been disappointed in you if you hadn't," she replies, her lips curving upwards slightly. She knots her fingers together in her lap to stop them from shaking.

Grant is silent for a few moments. He rubs underneath his nose, clearly thinking through in his head of what he intends to say. "Look – er - when Rick came and told me he was taking a step back from the task force for you…I gotta say I was surprised. I thought he was doin' it because – y'know, you're a pretty girl and he wanted to spend more time with you... Wasn't really like Rick to do something like that, but hey." June blushes at his words, but doesn't interrupt. "I didn't realise how hard he had it. I mean, how hard you _both_ have it. I…I guess I thought he'd just decided to ditch us and go play house with some random chick. I dunno…" Grant rubs at the back of his neck, chagrin pulling his features into a cringe. "I sort of resented him for it."

June hesitates, chewing on her lip. "It _is_ a good life for both of us," she admits, "about 90% of the time…and then the other 10%..." she tails off, because this doesn't need an explanation now that Grant's seen it first-hand.

He nods slowly. "…Yeah."

"It's not easy for Rick," she tells him, surprised by how forceful her voice is.

"I know. I guess I need to apologise when he gets back."

Neither of them go back to sleep that night. They sit in the living room with all the lights on – _Family Guy_ playing on the TV. When the sun rises the storm begins to subside. June peeks through the curtains as dawn breaks, Grant nodding off to sleep on the couch, struggling to stay awake. The street looks apocalyptic. Bins had blown over and garbage was strewn across the road – all the trees had been stripped of their fresh, spring leaves. June knows that later she will have to go outside and help with the clean-up.

The news anchor is announcing that the bridges near North Carolina's Outer Banks have been re-opened and that the worst of the storm has past. Air traffic has resumed as normal.

June wrenches the curtains back and allows light to flood the room. Grant's chin is now resting against his chest and he's so deeply asleep that he doesn't wake. She takes deep breathes of fresh air, trying to convince herself that last night was merely a horrible nightmare. She forces herself to forget. A new day, and all that. Besides, Rick came back today.

June makes coffee as the news records last night's devastation. The screen shows cars almost completely submerged under water and trees felled on top of houses. Growing up in Florida, June has seen her fair share of flash floods and tropical storms – but that doesn't make her apathetic to the damage she's witnessing.

"Rise and shine," she says, holding out a mug of coffee to Grant. He looks up at her, slightly dazed, but takes the offered cup dutifully. June notices that after the incident last night he has abandoned the gun in his room; it feels ridiculously good not to feel like a threat. "What do you want for breakfast?"

"You mean _you're_ going to cook?" Grant sniggers, but at the expression on her face, hastens to add: "I'll have an omelette."

Despite everything, June begins to feel her excitement mount as the day goes on. Rick's plane lands in the evening and he's driving himself back from the airport. She tries to distract herself by spending the morning raking the yard and sweeping the rain off of the front porch and then goes over the logistics of the dig later that evening – trying to prioritise exactly what chambers need to be excavated and why. She never completely settles – a jittery, jumpy feeling building in her stomach.

Because today is the day. She's decided. She is going to kiss Rick.

She's been going over it in her head ever since he left – and especially since she had that crazy dream. There was no denying any more how she felt about him, and the housing situation was getting ridiculous; they were sharing a _bed_. The platonic tip-toeing was driving her insane. She liked Rick. She liked him a lot. She missed him when he wasn't there and thought about him so much – even when they were in the same room - it felt like her mind was running in circles. June was fed up of analysing every comment. She was fed up of waking up every morning frustrated and wanting.

So she was going to kiss him.

She feels as if her chest is going to explode by the time six o clock rolls round. Though June is sat in the kitchen trying to focus on her laptop, she jumps to her feet every time she hears a door slamming or voices outside – running out into the hallway expectantly.

The third time June leaps to her feet at the sound of a dog barking, Grant rolls his eyes at her. "June, this is goin' to wear really thin, really fast. Just chill."

She blushes furiously and sits back down.

Grant spins a bottle top on the table surface, looking bored. It's clear he's impatiently waiting for Rick to get home as well – probably so that he can get out of the house he's been stuck in for the past four days. Though he and June get along fine, there's only so much time you can spend around another person.

"You know, my Dad always used to say 'don't sweat the small stuff'," he tells her.

"Everyone's Dad used to say that," June points out, jiggling her leg beneath the table.

"Yeah, but I think its advice you need to hear. You look like you're about to combust –"

But June barely registers what Grant has said, because this time there really is the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway. She launches herself at the door – Grant hot on her heels. It's hard to tell who's more eager to get out.

June runs out onto the porch. Rick is getting his bag out of the back of the car, slinging it over his shoulder. He looks tired after his journey – the tie of his suit loosened round his neck. Even from here she can see the bags under his eyes, the slight slouch to his usually straight posture. Her stomach flutters and she makes a small squeal of excitement. She races down the steps and throws her arms round his neck before he can make it much closer to the house.

"Whoa –" Rick grunts, stumbling back a step or two. He's unable to wrap his arms around her, given that he's holding onto both his jacket and his bag.

"I missed you –" June grins, inhaling the scent of _Rick_ on his slightly rumpled white shirt before looking up at him.

He smirks down at her, and her heart thumps painfully in her chest. Anticipation and adrenaline are coursing through her - she barely registers Rick dropping his bag down on the ground next to them. His free hand comes to thread in her hair at the back of her head and June loosens her grip on his shoulders, about to push herself up onto her toes.

But Rick isn't looking at her anymore. In fact, she realises, he hasn't even commented on the scratches on her neck or throat – something that isn't like him. Normally he would be all over her, asking about fifteen times if she was alright. If the storm was bad. He's looking over her head to Grant, absentmindedly tucking her into his side. The fingers stroking through her hair aren't a gesture of passion – they're a gesture of conciliation. An apology.

The realisation is like a bucket of ice water being dumped over her head: he's not here for her, and it's a strange feeling.

"We need to talk," Rick informs the younger man, his voice weary. "An' not just us. The whole team."

Grant is immediately alert, folding his arms. "You saw it then? Belle Reve?"

"Yeah."

Grant's eyes flicker to June almost imperceptibly. "Right now?" he asks.

"Right now."

June bites down on her lip. The adrenaline that had flooded her system is gone, leaving her feeling weirdly hollow. She's now able to register how bone-tired Rick seems. How tense he is beneath her touch. She'd been seeing the Rick she'd imagined in her head – equally elated and equally excited to see her – but the fog's lifted from her eyes. Reality looks a little different.

"Let me take your stuff in," she murmurs, sighing as she disengages herself from his grip. She stoops down to pick up his bags.

When June straightens back upright, Rick is looking at her with an understanding that replaces the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. This was their life. This was how things were. It was just how it was. "I'm sorry, June," he tells her, honestly. She hopes he hasn't somehow learnt to read her mind.

"It's okay." June looks at her feet. She gets it. She does. This trip hadn't been about her – it had been about his task force and what they were involved in. It made sense that they were the people he wanted – no, _needed_ – to see when he got back. She can't help the pathetic feeling of dejection. It felt like an age since she had last seen him.

Rick heaves a sigh, brushing his knuckles against her cheek. It's only lasts a split second and June leans into his touch, trying to extend the moment before his hand drops back to his side.

"Let's go," he says to Grant, nodding at the car.

June follows Rick round to the driver's side, still clutching his stuff. She pokes her head in through the window. Her lips are pressed together like she normally does when she's thinking hard about something. "When were you going to tell me you quit your job as squad leader for me?" she asks, finally - quietly.

Rick's eyes spark with annoyance and his jaw clenches. It's clear that he didn't want her to know that particular fact and he throws Grant a pointed glare. The younger man merely raises his arms up by his head as he hops into the car: "Hey, dude, I didn't know it was some big secret."

June knows that it's probably the last conversation Rick wants to have right now: the resignation is written all over his face. She wonders why he was so reluctant to tell her in the first place. Does he feel less of a man for it? Or does he resent her for putting him in that position? Her stomach twists at the thought – the sensation more painful than she would think possible - she never wanted Rick to resent her for anything. "Because you didn't need to know, June," he exhales, finally. "It's as simple as that."

"I know I _didn't_ ," she replies, quickly. "…but I would have _liked_ to. I feel bad that I've just gone weeks without knowing that you made this big sacrifice for me! Why didn't you tell me?"

He rolls his eyes, starting the car. "It's not a big deal."

But it was. She thought they told each other everything. Not to mention that she feels horribly guilty. June bites her lip as the engine roars into life. "This isn't over –" she warns him, stepping away from the window to allow him room to reverse out of the driveway.

He groans. " – June, don't make this into something bigger than it is – "

"It's a big deal to me," she insists, her voice now holding an edge of anger that she can't quite hide. "Alright? Look, just go. I'll see you when you get back."

"Lookin' forward to it." His drawl is clearly sarcastic, but not malicious.

But she's already carrying his bags back towards the house. The moment the door shuts behind her, June's shoulders slump.

Timing was a bitch.

* * *

 **A/N** I wrote this chapter because I think every person has identified with June's feelings at one point in their life. I know I've woken up on a certain morning and thought to myself that this is the day I'm going to tell this person how I feel/kiss them - only to have this crushing feeling of mortification when your big expectations don't work out.

I'm glad you guys enjoyed last chapter - the dream sequence was a little something to keep you going until they _actually_ get together.

Please remember to **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N** The site is being glitchy (again), and is not showing recent reviews. Rest assured, however, that I am still getting them through via email alerts and have read all of your lovely comments. Hopefully the problem will be fixed soon.

* * *

 **WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 18**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

It feels like old times, being in the front of a car with Grant next to him. This time, however, neither of them are dressed in any kind of uniform and unlike Afghanistan they don't have to worry about unexploded IEDs in the middle of the road. Rick's white shirt is rumpled and Grant's clothing hardly looks in a better state – Rick notes that he looks equally exhausted, but he's so focused on the whole Belle Reve thing, he doesn't have time to consider why.

He decides to gather the guys in the kitchen of Hutch's house. It's in the suburbs in Charlotte instead of on-site at the army base, meaning that it's out of the way of A.R.G.U.S and less likely to be watched by Waller. Hutch's wife shoos his kids up to bed as they gawp at the big men entering their home covertly. Rick keeps the light off should anyone be watching through a window. The kitchen is a twilight grey – illuminated only by a light on in another room.

They are crammed awkwardly into the small space. All of them are off-duty, dressed in jeans or slacks. Without the uniform and the gear, it's easier for Rick to see them as his friends rather than as soldiers. Men with real lives and beating hearts. They all look at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. Rick is used to this: he is the guy that makes the decisions – who looks out for them at all costs – but now it abruptly feels like a burden. His decisions are their decisions. His choices affect their lives. Since this whole thing started, he increasingly feels like he is dragging them into a bigger and bigger mess – with no way out.

Which is why this time it isn't up to him.

"Alrigh'" he says, eventually, from his position at the corner of the room; his back lent up against a cupboard, his arms folded. "I'm just gunna cut to the chase: I saw the place where Waller is putting the meta-humans we've been takin' off the streets. I know what she wants with them. She wants to make some kind of…suicidal task force…an' she wants _us_ to train them."

Rooster – who's sat up on the kitchen counter with one knee drawn up and the other leg just left dangling – snorts. "Horse shit."

The other guys look similarly sceptical. Not at the idea – but at the logistics of it. Though they have not seen Belle Reve, they know the effort it takes to bring criminal meta-humans in. It's exhausting and impossible and insanely dangerous. But keeping them in line? Training them? It was worse than suicidal.

Rick shakes his head. "I'm not kidding. Waller's going to make my life very difficult if I don't agree to do this an' if she shits on my head, she's goin' to shit on all _your_ heads. You guys know how this works."

"So you're not giving us a choice?" Tyler asks him, incredulous. "What the hell are we doing here?"

"Because he's leaving the decision to us, asshole," Grant shoots back, instantly coming to his defence. His eyes flicker to Rick. It's only the smallest movement – but it's clear that it is only Grant that truly understands the dilemma Rick is caught in here. He screws his team over if he agrees to help, but he puts himself in an even more precarious position with June if he rejects the offer. Waller has made it clear that she is aware there is something between them and it's likely she can and will use that as leverage against Rick to get what she wants. He can't hurt his team, but he doesn't want to hurt June, either. Left to him, he would be unable to decide – even if they tried to torture it out of him. Practicality rather than sentimentality has forced him to hand over control.

"The deal is, we can either train criminals for A.R.G.U.S into functional semi-decent human beings, or we can continue as we are just bringing them in. Both decisions have consequences," Grant explains calmly, taking over. "We're an elite squad, not some sorry-ass Rangers."

"Yeah, but this pushes it, Grant, even for us," Hutch speaks up for the first time, his voice as mild and controlled as ever. He looks troubled, his dark brows pulled into a frown. "I know Rick's more tied up in this meta-human stuff than we are, but personally I'd be happy not seeing one again."

There's a murmur of agreement through the room.

"I wish I'd never fucking heard of A.R.G.U.S, man," Tyler says, shaking his head. "Or the name Amanda Waller. Like, I swear I've never even seen her blink."

"Yeah, that's scary," Rooster agrees, pointing at the younger man. "It's like Voldemort, dude."

"Like what?" Hutch asks, confused.

"Harry Potter?!" Rooster protests, rounding on the other man in exasperation. Tyler looks vaguely staggered. "C'mon, Hutchins, you've got _kids_. What kind of depraved childhood –"

"Alright, shut it –" Grant barks, cutting in. Rooster rolls his eyes. "We don't have all night. We're voting on this. It's now or never, boys."

Rick is immediately grateful that his second-in-command is Grant Edwards. The guy may be temperamental, but he is in some ways more capable than Rick himself. Grant has always been able to do the things others might find unpalatable – not because he is colder or tougher, but because he is simply more willing to shoulder the burden. Where Rick would worry that some acts might corrupt him – might be a step too far in the direction of the man he used to be – Grant is already taking the shot. In some ways, he would have been far more suited to watching June. Grant would not have been compromised.

"Hutchins-" Grant says, looking at Hutch.

The man takes a while to answer, fiddling with his wedding ring. "I know this could…leave us in a difficult position with A.R.G.U.S, but I'm going to say no," he says eventually, having the decency to look straight at Rick. "I think it's a bad idea…Criminals and bad guys? They don't care, man. Real men have something to fight for."

Before Grant can turn to him, Tyler chimes in: "I agree. I say no."

"Rooster?"

Rick looks at the ginger-haired older man with interest. Rooster has always been something of a wild card. In the years Rick has known him, he has never quite been able to pin him down. He was always doing the opposite of what was expected. There's every chance Rooster would agree to something like this just for the hell of it. "Fuck it," he says, itching his nose absentmindedly. "I say yeah. Why not?"

" _Why not_?" Tyler echoes, disbelieving, turning on him. "Are you _kidding_ me right now?"

Rooster opens his mouth to argue back, but Grant cuts in – dispassionate – before they can bicker. He walks over, resting a hand briefly on Rick's shoulder. "- I'm saying no as well, Rick. I don't trust her."

The other three men all vote against the idea, too – an outcome that Rick would have predicted. Like they said: it was a bad idea all round. So bad, he is actually stunned that Amanda Waller had considered it in the first place.

"Just out of curiosity," he asks, stopping Rooster before he leaves Hutch's kitchen, "what made you think we should do this?"

The other man looks up at him, almost a full head shorter than Rick is. He looks utterly unconcerned – but then again Rick has rarely seen him unfazed. Where Grant snaps and grows tense and Tyler is prone to losing his cool, Rooster is the best under pressure – there's always a quip or joke. Instead of making some offhand comment, however, the older man seems to genuinely consider his question.

"I guess I sorta get fed up of writing down every shot fired…makin' sure all the logs match and the paperworks clean."

"- not that you do any of that anyway –" Rick smirks knowingly, and Rooster snorts.

" – right," he agrees, but now he's speaking slower, thinking out loud. "But it'd be real nice to feel like we don't have to cover our backs all the time…I don't know…sometimes' I come in to work an' feel like I have to leave my soul at home…Be nice to feel like we're doin' the right thing for once, is all."

The hairs on the back of Rick's neck prickle – his words strike too deep, strike too much of a chord. Because it's exactly how Rick had felt when he had stepped out of Belle Reve. For the first time in his life, he had wondered if he was doing the right thing. "This ain't that kinda job, Roost," he mutters, softly.

"Yeah, I know."

"It's never been that kind of job."

But Rooster shrugs slightly. "I never worried 'bout it before, 'til A.R.G.U.S came along. They're cold, man."

"We're doing good work with Waller," Rick replies, automatically. He's seen the data – the charts she'd shown him. Major crime rates have fallen by 30% in the cities they have raided – the initiative _was_ a success.

But Rooster doesn't look convinced. "Hey, whatever you need to tell yourself to sleep at night. Just make sure you're not in so deep you can't get out."

"Could be too late for that," Rick informs him, dryly. Because despite the other man's warning, he realises he doesn't regret any of this. It probably is too late for him – from the moment he chose to give June his number. He's surprised how little that bothers him.

"The girl?" Rick remembers that the last time Rooster saw June, he was pulling her out of that pool – Rooster must have seen the signs, even then.

He shrugs. "I'm not just goin' to walk away." Rooster rolls his eyes. "You think I'm stupid?" Rick challenges, catching his expression. He knows Rooster has a pessimistic view on love after his failed marriage of only two years, but for once he doesn't care about his opinion on this.

"Nah, man," Rooster says, plactingly. "- just means you're loyal. It ain't stupid. Dangerous? Yeah."

Rick looks around Hutch's home. His wife is pretty house-proud. Unlike his and June's place, which is always slightly messy and still looks vaguely unfinished, everything here is neatly arranged and clean. He can hear them together now, whispering heatedly in the kitchen. How long had Hutch been married to Emily? Six years? "I knew that going in," Rick points out, talking to Rooster. "It didn't stop me."

"Never does with you," Rooster shoots back. They finally move to walk out of the house. Most of the guys have gone – only Tyler and Grant remain behind, waiting for Rooster so they can all drive in his truck back to base. The mess from last night's storm is evident even at dusk: the yard is sludgy with mud and water still drips from the gutters on the roof. When Rick looks up at the second story windows, two small faces peer back through the curtains at him. One of them gives a tentative wave.

"Time for the Colonel to get to his night job, boys," Tyler grins, his voice thick with innuendo.

"Very funny," he throws back at the kid, tiredly sardonic, as he walks over to his car. All he can think about is his and June's tiny house and how much he just wants to be there. Hell, even the crappy couch seems pretty attractive right now.

It's only as Rick drives home that he remembers his and June's conversation before he left. He swears, rubbing at his forehead. How did she just surprise him with shit like that out of the blue? June had rarely caught him off guard that badly before – of course, he hadn't _known_ she knew – that Grant had told her.

" _Shit_." He swears again, remembering the hurt and accusation in her voice. Why did she even care if he had stepped down as a full-time squad leader? It wasn't that bigger deal.

But, of course, it _was_ a big deal.

It was a very big deal. Because she wanted to know _why_ he'd make that kind of sacrifice. And the reason he'd done it was because he cared too much about her. And he couldn't tell her that – not yet, at least. It would be too weird. Too awkward.

All he wanted right then was simply to curl up with June in bed and sleep, but he knows that isn't how things are going to go down. He pulls up in the driveway to the house and just sits there with the engine idling for a minute, trying to put off the inevitable. He looks at the glowing green light of the digital clock on his dashboard. Almost eleven. There is every chance June could be asleep: he can't see any lights on in the house.

Feeling like a complete coward, Rick opens the front door as silently as possible. The house is quiet and dark. When he creeps down the hallway, the floorboards creak beneath his feet. In the bedroom, June is fast asleep. The sight of her curled up in a ball beneath the sheets gives him a guilty feeling when he should have been relieved she wasn't aware of him sneaking into the house like an idiot. Under normal circumstances, June would stay up into the late hours of the morning waiting for him to come home. Pester him the moment he came in through the door. The sight of her asleep in the bed, the argument left cold and lingering between them, makes him grimace.

When he opens their wardrobe, Rick realises that June hasn't bothered to unpack his stuff; she's just slung his bag into the back. He heaves out an imperceptible sigh at the final piece of evidence that she really is pissed at him, stripping his shirt over his head and hanging it up.

Gingerly, Rick slips into bed next to her. June opens her eyes blearily, and in the darkness he can hear her wake up with a slight moan. He waits on his side of the bed for June to scoot across the covers and wrap herself around him like she normally does, but he just feels her huddle closer to the edge of the bed and go back to sleep.

* * *

When Rick wakes in the morning, it's to find that June is already gone. It's unlike her to be awake so early, and he slides out of bed before he can stop himself – intent on finding her. It's a Sunday, so it's not like she can have escaped to work, but Rick wouldn't put it past her to go off by herself for the day.

He is therefore ridiculously relieved when he finds June curled up on the couch in the living room, her thick, purple robe wrapped tightly around her. She's watching TV and munching on a bowl of cereal, but when he appears in the doorway, she looks up at him.

Rick hovers awkwardly, trying to gauge her emotions from her impassive expression.

"Morning," he says, unsure of whether to fully enter the room or not – whether to simply leave her alone. "Mind if I sit down?"

"It's you couch, too," she reminds him, shifting to make room for him. He nestles himself in to the corner of the sofa and stretches his arm out across the back of it. The cushions are hard and uncomfortable.

"We should go to Home Depot or somethin'" he mutters, remembering Hutch and Emily's neat house. "Get a new sofa."

June's reply is noncommittal. "That would be nice."

He looks at her, realising that small talk isn't going to get him anywhere. "…Can we talk?" She chews on some cereal by way of reply and Rick mentally rolls his eyes – it's clear she's going to make him work for it. "…why are you so angry about what Grant said?"

June blinks – evidently thrown off guard by his question and the direction of the conversation. Her spoon freezes somewhere between the bowl and her mouth. "I'm not angry?!" she exclaims, looking at him as if he's lost his mind.

"You're mad," Rick throws back, in exasperation "- and it's okay. I get it –"

"Rick, I'm not _angry_ you stepped down from being task force leader!" June cuts in, sounding offended that he'd even think it. Rick tries to fight off a wave of confusion as he struggles to keep up. June is looking so confused and surprised, he's wondering how he got the situation so messed up. If they're even talking about the same thing.

"Then what –" he struggles.

"I felt _guilty_ that you had to do that for me. I was _hurt_ that you didn't want to tell me…but I'm not _angry_ at you," she spells out slowly, as if explaining something to a small child.

Rick shakes his head, refusing to get pulled in. "Nah – don' give me that crap June. You were giving me the cold shoulder last night and you know it."

Spots of colour rise in her cheeks and she looks down into her bowl so as to avoid his gaze. Her embarrassment alerts him to the fact that he's onto something…but he also knows that he has to play his cards right when she gets this uncomfortable. If he tries to push her too hard, she'll simply clam up and he'll get nothing.

He heaves a sigh, subtly beginning to run his fingers up and down the back of her neck lightly with his outstretched arm. "C'mere," he mutters, coaxingly.

For a moment, it looks as if she'll say no, but then June settles her cereal bowl onto the floor and moves across the sofa until her back is against his chest and she's curled up against him. Like a cat, she allows him to rub his fingers up and down her neck. He allows himself to smirk slightly to himself – it was almost too easy.

"I'm sorry I left when I got back," he tells her eventually, wondering if that's why she was being off with him. "I didn't want to."

She hums somewhere in the back of her throat, her body relaxed against his. Not moving his hand from her hair, Rick reaches to turn the TV off with the other, allowing them peace and quiet for the first time in days.

She's putty in his hands, and Rick can't help the way his eyes occasionally drift to her long, outstretched legs. Her robe stops too far up her thigh, and he begins to wonder if she's wearing anything underneath it at all.

"…its okay," June mumbles out, eventually. "I get it." Her eyes are closed, and it takes Rick a moment to remember what they've been talking about. "What did you need to tell them?"

He deliberates whether to tell her about the Task Force – the vague threats Waller had made about using June to get to him. In the end he decides to tell her – it's not worth June getting hurt again because he's withheld information, and besides, he'd quite like her sleeping next to him tonight. Especially when he can see so much of her long, lithe body right now.

"Amanda Waller wants my team to…train some of these meta's we've been arresting. Turn them into a task-force they can send in in dangerous situations."

"Because they're expendable?" June guesses, her eyes still closed as he absentmindedly brushes his fingers further down the opening in the back of her robe. Her voice is light and relaxed – he can't tell how she feels about the situation.

"Yeah."

"What did your team decide?"

"Not to go through with it."

She doesn't speak for a while, though Rick can tell she's thinking about something. "…that's a shame," June murmurs, eventually - quite possibly the last thing he expected her to say. He might have anticipated her complaining about the way A.R.G.U.S were treating meta-humans, or her worrying about his safety – but not this.

"What?" he blurts out, ineloquently.

June twists so that her back is now against the couch and she's facing him - her knees tucked up into his lap. She props her head up with her elbow.

"I said it's a shame," she repeats, though they both know he's heard her perfectly. "I think you could've done it."

He has to smile slightly at that. She has too much faith in him. In people in general. "They're bad guys, June."

"So?" she teases, raising an eyebrow. "Nothing you can't handle."

"You can't trust them."

"But they can trust you."

"They're uncontrollable."

"Maybe by your definition," she thinks out loud. "But if you gave them a goal –"

"They wouldn't care. They're all out for themselves. These people…you can offer them deals. You can manipulate them, but that is the _only_ way you can deal with them. There isn't a 'better nature' to appeal to, June. They don't have a 'good side'."

He waits for the pout. The protest. But to his surprise she just smiles softly, like she knows something he doesn't. She tilts her head, as if to regard him at a different angle. "I believe…that there isn't anyone else out there who could do that job better than you could."

He's taken aback momentarily by the sheer conviction in her voice. He hadn't realised until then how much faith she has in him – the degree of her belief in his abilities. He doesn't agree with her…doesn't think she sees things as logically or pragmatically as he does – but in that moment Rick chooses not to focus on the _logistics_ and instead focuses on the sentiment. He rubs hand up June's thigh, feeling her bare, warm skin beneath his fingers. He finds himself wanting to tighten his grip – drag her further onto his lap and embrace her. There's something about the look on her face – so trusting and open – that has his mouth turning dry.

Rick swallows. "Thanks."

* * *

 **A/N** Thank you all so much for sticking with this slow-burn; I promise that after eighteen chapters, development is on the horizon!

Please remember to leave a **review**.

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	19. Chapter 19

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 19**

* * *

 _ **June**_

June really shouldn't be doing this. She should be rushing round, preparing for work and getting her things together – she doesn't have time to be loitering. The morning had gotten off to a bad start. She'd run out of contact lenses, meaning she'd been forced to wear her glasses for work and for her meeting with Amanda Waller. June already looked young for her age, and the glasses didn't help matters.

She pushes them further up her nose absentmindedly and settles more comfortably on the sofa. She and Rick had gone out yesterday and finally bought a new one – chucking the ratty leather couch out in the process. June had taken a ridiculously long time to decide on the sofa, dragging Rick to about five different stores. She wasn't sure why it had meant so much to her – maybe because she hoped this signified that them living together – whilst contrived – would be a long-term thing. Predictably, he hadn't cared much about aesthetics and had left it to her to choose. In the end, they'd settled on a heather grey colour.

But June isn't thinking about the couch right now. Sat where she is, she has a clear view through the gap in the white curtains that covered the porch double doors. Through it, she can see Rick going through his morning workout on the grass before he heads off to the army base for the day. He's got headphones stuffed into his ears – the music so loud she can hear the tinny, crashing beat from here – completely unaware that she's watching him.

June had always thought of Rick as tall and lean, but watching him now, she's beginning to realise he's a lot more muscular than she had initially thought. In a push-up position, she can easily see the breadth of his shoulders. The tattoo on his left tricep is exposed by a plain white t shirt – soaked through with sweat. Her eyes travel the length of his body, every muscle straining and pulled taught. She'd stopped counting how many push-ups he had done when he reached forty. All she knew was that his endurance and strength were pretty impressive, and she can't help but cross her legs a bit more tightly at the thought.

June's so busy looking at Rick, that for a while she doesn't notice that another woman has paused in her morning jog and is looking at him just as lasciviously.

June presses her lips together tightly and hurries up to the doors before she can stop herself. She strides out onto the porch and down onto the grass, despite the fact she's not wearing shoes. When Rick sees her coming out of his peripheral, he allows himself to sit back on his heels in a crouch, panting hard. He plucks the headphones out of his ears so that he can hear her.

"Can you not do this outside?" June snaps – less tactfully than she'd intended. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see the woman beginning to move down the street again. She's probably laughing at June's inability to play it cool – her childish jealousy. She probably thinks she's Rick's petty girlfriend or something.

 _And she'd only be half wrong_ , June thinks to herself, unable to control the wave of possessiveness that's coursing through her.

Rick squints against the sunlight up at her. "Why not?"

"Because you have an audience."

He glances up the road at the woman's retreating figure, then looks back at June. She tries not to blush as he smirks at her. "Does that include you?" he guesses, intuitively.

"No," she snaps back, peevishly.

"Huh…Did I tell you that you look good this morning? Because you do," he drawls, his smirk growing bigger - and June flushes as she feels his gaze on her favourite white blouse, the one with the knotted bow at the neck. She can't tell if it's a genuine compliment or if he's just being deliberately flirtatious to make her uncomfortable. Even so, the rare flash of flirty southern charm is disarming.

She straightens her glasses, most definitely feeling uncomfortable and hot and flustered as he stares up at her. Rick gestures to her face. "I like the glasses, too."

Her mind is clawing desperately for something to say, but luckily Rick seems to take pity on her and changes the topic - though he still has that stupid, knowing grin on his face. He pushes himself to his feet.

"I'm goin' to be on-base today," he informs her.

" - I know – " June replies, trying not to be distracted by his proximity. How had she not noticed before that Rick was about twice as wide as she was? He completely dwarfed her.

"So if anythin' comes up with Waller – anything at all –"

June mentally rolls her eyes. For once, she wasn't going into A.R.G.U.S to get poked and prodded with needles. She was going in as June, and she was coming out as June. She and Melissa were going to present a cost break-down of the excavation they were planning for the end of the month. They'd worked over-time last week to calculate the costs of processing, recording, photography, conservation and structure. They'd worked with Alan, the Archaeological Institute's harassed-looking, balding accountant to get everything as cheap as possible – but even two weeks at the dig looked as if it would require a hefty sum of money.

Once – or if – Waller agreed to fund their mission, it would be a race against time to get various contractors and surveyors on board. June, who had never planned a dig in her life and was now being asked to figure out the logistics of one in a little over two weeks, was beginning to feel a headache coming on. She was only just remembering why she had taken it upon herself to hike through the jungle alone for seven days and explore the temple herself without expressed permission from the Board.

"Rick, I'll be fine."

"Yeah, well, don't let her bully you into a corner," he warns. "Tell her what you want, and don't take 'no' for an answer."

June grimaces. Amanda Waller was a hard person to argue with. In her head, June had been planning on leaving all the bargaining and intimidation to Melissa. The thought of her old mentor and Waller in the same room almost makes her laugh – if it came to fight, she's not actually sure which of them would win.

"We're not coming out of there without a pledge," June promises him. "The research we have has run dry. We kind of _have_ to go back." She checks her phone for the time and realises she needs to get going. Rick must catch the expression on her face because he throws an arm around her shoulder.

"You'll be fine, but if not…good luck," he tells her, hugging her into his side.

June grumbles something indistinct about sweat, but doesn't protest as she presses herself closer to him. Inside her head, she's furiously berating herself for not kissing him when he came home. Now, the wind's been knocked out of her sails and her resolve is weakening. She can see the weeks stretched out in front of her – busy and hectic – with no real opening to tell him how she feels. She knows that spontaneity is supposed to be romantic or whatever, but June can't help but think through every detail. Was there such a thing as waiting for the 'right moment' to come along, or did she simply have to make the best of a bad one?

She wracks her brains on the bus into work, trying to think about how she used to hook up with guys. It had been a while, and most of the time it had involved alcohol as liquid courage. June is less insecure than she was back then, and – besides – she's pretty sure that she likes Rick enough that she doesn't have to down a bottle of vodka just to kiss him.

At work, she and Melissa sit in her office going through a final run of what is essentially their sales pitch. Despite the fact that they are both archaeologists, and Melissa spends most of her time swearing at PhD students in her laboratory and June lives in her office, they aren't terrible. June has a clear head for the facts, and Melissa is persuasive enough to make up for June's mousiness.

Still, 'not terrible' doesn't exactly cut it when you're meeting with Amanda Waller. As they sit outside her office at A.R.G.U.S's temporary headquarters, Melissa squeezes her eyes tight shut. " _Oh God_ ," she moans out loud, letting her head thump back against the wall. "We are _so_ screwed."

"We'll be OK," June tries to reassure her, though she sounds less-than convincing.

Melissa throws her a look. "Did you _see_ our final figure? 'Cause there were a lot of zeroes there."

June had, but she attempts to shrug it off. "Every time I see Waller, she likes to remind me how much money her corporation are putting into the Enchantress project. I'm sure this is nothing to her," she tells Melissa, placatingly. "And the Board's already given us the green-light. We just need to get this pledge and we're good to go."

"Well…I guess we do have a unique bargaining chip," Melissa agrees, crossing her perfectly tanned legs. When June looks at her quizzically she rolls her eyes. " _You_ , you idiot!…And all the…witchy ju-ju crap," she explains, flapping a hand vaguely in her general direction.

June sighs, because how could she forget? "Oh yeah," she deadpans, but Melissa doesn't pick up on the sarcasm.

"Doctor Rodriguez – Doctor Moone?" a secretary steps out of Waller's office to greet them. "Amanda Waller will see you now."

June hastily straightens her glasses and follows Melissa into the room. It's large and minimalist. A few chairs clustered around a large oak table. As usual, the A.R.G.U.S logo is emblazoned on the wall, and a pretty purple orchid stands on the window sill. Seeing such a delicate touch of colour in Waller's office makes June think of her as a person and not an authoritarian robot for the first time. Was Waller married? How did she end up as head of an organisation that specialized in meta-humans?

Today the older woman is wearing a suit of pale blue. When June sits down at the table across from her, she tries to subtly look at her left hand. No ring.

"This is the final sum of money we – our accountants – have come up with at the Archaeological Institute," Melissa begins, sliding a piece of paper across the table to Waller. "It factors in everything: transport costs, food, conservation – etcetera – for two weeks."

Waller picks up the spreadsheet and automatically raises both eyebrows. "Wow," she deadpans.

June and Melissa share a look, but don't speak. Waller carefully settles down the sheet of paper and fixes her gaze unwaveringly on them. June has never before met a person so unfazed by looking someone in the eye. "Let me ask the two of you…what exactly are you expecting to find on this trip?"

June fidgets in her seat slightly before taking a deep breath. "We want to find out how to…'control' the Enchantress."

"What happened to the cave drawings?" Waller questions, shrewdly. "I thought those were supposed to be enough to tell you that."

"We got stuck," Melissa admits, bluntly.

"You mean a team of qualified Archaeologists – all with PhD's – can't figure out a cave drawing?" Waller drawls, sarcastically.

June winces, but pulls out the photocopies of the cave drawings from her file. For once, it's been a while since she last looked at them - where before she had compulsively checked them every single day. She shows them to Waller, who, no doubt, has also looked at these images about a hundred times. "This is what's we've figured out so far –" she points at the first drawing – the famine, then a sun, tall crops, a crowd of people. "Dzmor was crowned because she was able to heal the city of a horrible plague. The people were so grateful that they worshipped her. This continues for some generations –" June drags her finger across the pictures – "and then we get to _here_ , where this strange circle appears. We don't know what this means, but we know that _this_ –" June taps an intricate etching of a table – "is some kind of sacrificial alter. After that it's all guess-work. We still have no idea why the civilization failed, or how Dzmor ended up in the idol."

Though that isn't strictly true. June, Rob and Melissa did actually manage to figure out one more piece of the puzzle – one they agreed was too dangerous to share with Waller. They had finally decided that the skull in the final drawing didn't symbolise _death_ per say – but a dead body. A tomb. Which meant that they now knew roughly where they were looking once they got to the temple. It was too risky for A.R.G.U.S to know that. Better June and the people she trusted got there first.

Waller steeples her hands in front of her mouth, clearly thinking. June hopes she believes her – doesn't suspect her of deliberately leaving facts out. "Who did they sacrifice?" she asks, eventually.

"We're not sure of that, either," Melissa admits. "But whoever it was, things get a lot worse for them. Wars break out. There's a lot of sickness."

"You think it was the witch?"

Melissa shakes her head, pointing to the figure in blue that appears right up until the end. "It can't be. She's still in all the drawings after the sacrifice."

"I see," Waller says, her face inscrutable – not giving anything away. She stands from her chair and paces the length of the room once. "A.R.G.U.S will provide you with the money you need," she informs them. "But if we do this – we do this _my_ way." She stops in front of the table, planting her hands firmly down on its surface. "My men and I will be coming with you. Your team will be under constant supervision. If your drawings turn out to be more than the scribblings of savages, and you actually find something, you report back to me. _Instantly_."

"With all due respect," Melissa begins, tightly – in a tone that indicates she is about to be anything but – "we are more than qualified to be doing this without A.R.G.U.S breathing down our necks."

"And with all due respect, Doctor Rodriguez. You may be qualified to dig up pottery and toilet paper, but you are not qualified to be digging up potentially alien objects."

"Alien?" June asks, incredulously.

Waller turns to her, her voice flat. "Unfamiliar. Unknown, Doctor Moone. You and your team could stumble across something and have no _idea_ what it is. This is _our_ jurisdiction and those are my conditions."

June and Melissa share a furtive glance, both thinking the same thing. How are they supposed to search every tomb in the temple and be subtle about it?

The hairs on June's arms prickle...Maybe Waller does suspect that they're up to something.

"That's fine by me," June accepts, trying to act smoothly. She decides that agreeing to her terms will look a lot less suspicious than rejecting them. She'll just have to figure out a way of getting around Waller's bodyguards before they get to the dig. She nudges Melissa beneath the table with her foot.

"Me too," Melissa nods, her glossy lips stretching into a forced smile – her voice sickly sweet. June has to refrain from kicking her underneath the table.

When they're about half-way out the door, Waller stops June. "Doctor Moone," she calls, and June freezes in her steps, turning back around. "Any more…incidents I should be aware of?"

"I thought R- Colonel Flag – was reporting back to you?" June says, quickly, blushing as she trips over Rick's name.

Waller merely shrugs and June tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, remembering the horrible hallucination she had had during the storm. She was doing her best to forget about it, and – besides - she tells herself that that isn't the kind of thing Waller wanted to hear about. What she really wants to know is whether the Enchantress has revealed any exciting new abilities she can harness.

"No," June replies, as nonchalantly as possible. "Nothing."

Walking back through the network of corridors at the base, June begins to feel slightly giddy - despite everything. They'd _done_ it. They'd got the money. Waller had signed the paperwork and everything. A small grin slips onto her face without her really noticing. Though Melissa had rolled her eyes and reminded her that – if anything – their problems had just gotten a lot worse, June had merely replied something about 'small victories'.

She turns a corner down another hallway and almost freezes when she sees Rick walking towards her. He's clearly just come from training – his face is slightly dirty and he's wearing his khaki jacket and earpiece. There's something tantalizingly illicit about seeing Rick at work like this – almost like an affair. He's getting closer and closer and then their paths cross, and his arm brushes against hers.

"How'd it go?" he asks her, casually stopping a few feet away from her. Does he feel the weird electricity between them, too?

"Er - we did it," June replies, biting down on her lip. Her eyes dart up and down the corridor to check if anyone is watching. It's annoying, having to worry about keeping a professional amount of space between them. Surely she could risk being a bit more familiar with him? They'd lived together for four weeks…surely people expected…"But there were…conditions…" she tags on.

He nods slowly, chewing on a piece of gum like June knows he does when he wants to smoke. "There always are with Waller. What –"

But a group of men in suits abruptly spill out of an office and June hastily steps even further away from Rick. "I'll tell you when we're at home," she promises – backing up.

She thinks she catches a flicker of irritation in his eyes and his hand reaches out lightning fast to grab hers – stopping her in her tracks. "This way –" he mutters, jerking his head towards the elevator. He drops her hand almost instantly, and June's skin tingles at the loss of contact.

She finds that, walking next to Rick, her heart is beating a lot faster than usual. She can't quite figure out why – it's exactly the same feeling she had when she was waiting for him to come home – the pounding adrenaline, the twisting in her stomach. It's not until the elevator doors slide open, and June and Rick are the only ones to step inside, that she realises what her brain is trying to tell her.

"Are there cameras in here?" she asks, completely forgetting that she's supposed to be filling Rick in on her meeting with Waller. Her words come out slightly strangled – she almost feels nauseous, her heart is beating so fast.

His brow furrows as he glances up at the ceiling. "Don't think so," he says. "Why -?"

But the doors slide shut and June's hands grab his biceps to steady herself as she shoves herself up onto her toes and kisses him…Because she has realised there would never _be_ a 'right moment' – only stolen ones. And, really, she can't afford to be waiting.

She's caught him by surprise, and he's so tall that she has to actually strain to press her lips to his. It's quick and fleeting. She can't do much more because she's so nervous, and when she drops back onto her heels she looks at Rick nervously.

He seems slightly taken aback, but to her intense relief, his face slowly changes into a teasing smirk. "Oh, that's how it us, huh?" he asks her, and June can't help but grin at his mocking. There was a time when it drove her insane, but now she kind of likes it. She had worried that it would be awkward to kiss Rick – awkward to change their relationship like this - but it wasn't. Because - she realises - they'd always been building up to _this._ From the moment she knew him.

"That's how it is," June replies, trying to swallow her smile.

"You're just gunna…sneak attack me when I don't expect it?" he challenges, and June snorts as Rick crowds her against the wall. Her back connects with the metal railing fixed to the sides and her stomach drops pleasantly.

"You didn't exactly mind," she reminds him. Rick's hands grip the bar either side of her hips – caging her in – though it's not exactly like she's about to run anywhere. The anticipation is killing her. June wants him to kiss her - _really_ kiss her – and Rick must see that challenge in her eyes because abruptly he swoops his head down and presses his lips to hers fiercely.

The effect is somewhat marred, however, by June's glasses uncomfortably ramming into the bridge of her nose. " _Ouch –_ " she grunts, jerking her head away from his reflexively.

Rick looks at her curiously as June moves them onto the top of her head, using them to push her hair back out of her eyes at the same time. "Glasses," she explains, grimacing.

A smile hovers about his lips. "Can you still see?" he drawls, his tone mocking. He's so close that his breath fans out across her face – she can smell the mint from his gum. His nose brushes hers.

"I don't know –" June pretends to squint (even though everything now _is_ sort of blurry) –"is that your face?" she asks, using her left hand to feel his features, deliberately pressing her palm into his face.

He growls and knocks her wrist to the side and June snickers before she unexpectedly feels his lips descend onto hers once more. She's crushed even further back into the wall as his whole body presses against hers, buts she doesn't mind. Her grip tightens on his arms and she relishes in the feeling of his muscles beneath her fingertips. Rick's lips work against hers with an intensity and possessiveness that leaves her breathless. One of his hands move to grasp the hair at the back of her head tightly, tugging so that she gasps against his mouth. Her lips meet his in fast, hard kisses until they're both panting, their breath mingling as she tries to push her body closer into his. It's raw and it's needy, but can only last about five seconds before he tears himself away quickly, panting. June thinks for one, weird, moment that he's afraid she'll get carried away and hurt him or something – but then she comes to her senses. They're in an elevator, and they're almost at the bottom floor.

She barely has four seconds to compose herself before there's a _ping_ and the doors slide open once more. They both walk out quickly, trying to get their breath back and not look suspicious. On the ground level there are groups of people milling about. It's lunch time, and through a glass wall June can see A.R.G.U.S employees sat round tables in a canteen.

She allows herself to glance at Rick for the first time. She's surprised to see that there is no indication on his face that he's just thoroughly made out with her. His expression is completely neutral, his uniform unrumpled. Only a slightly amused twinkle in his eyes shows that he's been up to something he shouldn't have been. On her part, June knows that she looks discomposed. She can feel her cheeks burning, and her glasses are threatening to slip off the back of her head. She hastily puts them back on, trying to fix her hair as Rick stops in his tracks.

"You're somethin' else, June, you know that?" a rueful smile touching his lips as he looks past her shoulder at the various Suits walking past them.

Her ten seconds of courage has now failed her and she can't think of a witty retort, so she just settles for straightening her blouse.

Rick rolls his eyes, glancing down at her briefly. "Stop fussin'. It makes you look more suspicious."

She shoots him an irritated glare - mainly because he's not acknowledging that _she_ walked out of that elevator looking a hell of a lot worse than _he_ did. Also, he is far too relaxed. She can still feel her heart thundering in her chest.

Still, June finishes re-tying the bow around her neck with deliberate care.

"Where are you going now?" he asks her, all business.

She clears her throat, finally recomposing herself. "Back to the office. You?"

He grimaces. "De-briefing. We've got an op tonight."

She nods, he'd warned her of that, but she'd forgotten. Looked like she was eating dinner by herself. June sighs, trying to straighten things out in her head. "Um, remind me to fill you in about what Waller said about the dig. You're going to want to know and…I might need your help," she admits.

"What, before or after you attack me again?" he smirks, looking down at her, but she's abruptly not in the mood for flirting. Her expression has turned anxious – strained. For some reason, their kiss has made June ten times more aware of how much she loves having Rick in her life…to the extent that she can't imagine her world without him.

"You'll be okay tonight, right?" she asks him, anxiously. "Safe?"

He sighs, the smile slipping from his face. "June - you know I'm not the kind of guy who takes unnecessary risks."

And she knows he isn't. Rick was careful almost of a fault – caution was part of his DNA. But she couldn't ignore that his job was dangerous. June of all people knew how strong meta-humans could be, and Rick was only human, after all.

"I know," she says, smoothing a hand down the front of his jacket as an excuse to touch him. The urge to kiss him again is insanely strong, and she steps away from him before she can act on it. "I just…I worry about you."

"I know," Rick replies, simply.

* * *

 **A/N** I've watched a lot of really lovely interviews with Cara Delevingne where she describes the love Rick and June have as something really beautiful coming out of the darkest of circumstances. It's refreshing to write about something so pure in the _Suicide Squad_ universe where a lot of things are so corrupt and bad, and I think that's why Rick and June's relationship appealed so much to me, personally. (Also, Joel Kinnaman's acting in that bar scene is great. You can really feel that he'll do anything to get her back). It's a challenge to re-create that really epic kind of love without it feeling cheesy or over-the-top, which is why I felt this fic had to be slow-burn to give the relationship layers.

But ANYWAY, I'm rambling - and we all know what's really important in this chapter is that the finally kissed ;)

As always, please remember to **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	20. Chapter 20

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 20**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

He finally gets home at three o clock in the morning, his blood still humming with latent adrenaline. Though he should be tired, when Rick throws himself into bed next to June, he can't sleep. It's still jarring to make the change from an effective war-zone to comfortable home, and it's not always easy to convince himself to relax.

His ears are still ringing with the sound of bullets punching holes in sheet metal. Bits of wall plaster exploding around him. The warehouse they'd tracked the meta into had been like a maze. They'd had to split up and spread out – try and box it in. He can still hear Rooster finally cracking and screaming: " _Come on, you motherfucker!_ "

Rick throws a hand over his eyes, trying to quieten the noises in his head. He doesn't realise that June's woken until she turns on her bedside lamp.

"Rick?" she murmurs, squinting tiredly in the glare of the bright light. Her hair is pulled back in a wonky, messy bun. "Babe, you're still dressed," she says, taking in his baseball cap and jacket. His gun and holster sit on the bedside table. She looks at the clock. "It's three in the morning."

"Yeah, I know," he mutters, moving his arm from over his eyes and exhaling. "Go back to bed, June."

But she sits up further, looking at him with a furrowed brow. He knew it was a long shot telling her to go back to sleep. She was stubborn, and he knows that now she is awake, she's unlikely to go back to sleep until he has.

June sighs and takes his hat off for him and the wriggles closer under the covers until her head is resting on his shoulder, the scratchy material of his jacket against her cheek. "I kind of know how you feel," she informs him, quietly. Her finger traces a pattern on his chest absentmindedly. "I keep getting flashbacks to the cave randomly. I'll be doing normal stuff and then see all these skulls…or remember how it felt when it…entered me." He feels her shiver against him. "…so I just want you to know…I get it."

Rick pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to pull himself together. This was his _job_. It was just because it was a late night op and he'd driven straight here after…hadn't had time to shake things off. Set himself straight. "Thanks," he exhales, shifting her head off of him gently so that he can sit up a bit more and shuck off his jeans.

This will be his last night shift for a few days. He can enjoy evenings with June again – the thought makes him relax slightly.

Rick's not normally the affectionate type, but when he settles back into bed, he takes advantage of the…newer aspects of their relationship by pulling her back into his chest and wrapping his arms securely around her waist….June couldn't protect him from his own head just as much as he couldn't protect her from the nightmares and the hallucinations, but the contented sigh she makes as he spoons her reminds him of what he had told her that day on the hike. They had a lot of problems, and none of them were going to go away…but they could still be happy in spite of it.

"You going to turn the light out?" he mutters, tucking his knees in behind hers.

"Mmph," she replies, clearly too sleepy and content to do much else. Her muscles are like jelly against his, he can tell that she's already drifting back off to sleep.

Rick sighs, supporting himself on one arm and reaches over her to turn off her bedside lamp. They both plunge into darkness and he drops himself back down behind to her, resting his head back onto the pillow.

If he thought he'd shaken the weird tense feeling he had, however, his dreams prove him wrong.

The moment Rick drops off to sleep, he is once again walking the corridors of Belle Reve. Everything is grimy and vaguely green, as if someone has simply dropped the prison in the sea and he's now looking at it filtered by a thousand ocean fathoms.

Rick peers into a hatch looking into one cell and recoils in disgust when he sees the guards forcing tubes up an inmate's nose. He watches the prisoner gag, their limbs straining against their restraints – the faceless man kicking his feet against the ground in agony. Rick steps away. These were bad guys, he reminds himself, as he continues his dream-like walk. They'd done terrible things. When he peers into the next cell, a similar image greets him. An inmate strapped to a board – an electric current racing through them – their orange jumpsuit beginning to singe and smoke. Rick begins to feel a deep uneasiness in his stomach. He had seen worse…of course he had. Just not done by _his_ side.

Each room gets steadily worse. One has a meta-human strung up from the ceiling like a shot deer. When Rick reaches the end of the corridor – the heart of Belle Reve, where Harley Quinn was kept – Griggs is abruptly with him, grinning slightly manically.

"Oh she's crazy," he's informing him, as he twists the wheel on the door. "But she's a sweet young thang – if you know what I mean. Wouldn't mind a piece of that for myself."

The door opens, and Rick' stomach plummets. Because he finds himself looking at _June_ in Harley's cage. _June_ dangling gracefully from Harley's knotted sheets, her skin pale and her long, brown hair knotted. His throat constricts as she climbs carefully down, approaching the bars.

He couldn't look away from her, even if he wanted to.

"So this is how it is, huh?" she asks him, as he walks up on the other side. Her voice is as eerily playful as he remembers. Teasing. Dirty light streaks down from the skylight, illuminating the blue in her eyes.

June's words are almost incomprehensible for some reason, but when they register, Rick shakes his head emphatically. " _No_."

"You could get me out. I know you could…" she whispers, her fingers reaching through the bars and weaving through his. Warm and comforting. "I believe in you, Rick."

Harley's words echo in his head…begging… _Just let me out of here. Just do it. For true love. I need to surprise him – it's his_ _ **birthday**_ _soon!_

"I need to get out here," June continues, pleading. "Let me out. Just do it…For true love. I want to go _home_ with you. I want things to be like they were!"

"They will be," Rick attempts, trying to force the words through his throat, which has suddenly become too small. His voice is thick. "…I'll get you out. I'll do anything - I swear."

She presses herself closer to the bars and kisses him – her palm lies flat against his chest. Except when he pulls away, he finds himself staring at the Enchantress. Rick flinches, his whole body instantly recoiling.

Even in a dream, he knows that this is real. Or…not part of the dream in his head, at least. It's really her and not some nightmare conjured up by his imagination. The witch's big, dark eyes spark maliciously as she looks up at him, her fingers suddenly grip the front of his jacket tightly so he can't step back. This time, she doesn't look like June – it's the woman herself. Regal, with tanned skin just visible beneath the filth and an angular face. Her lips are pulled into a sneer that perfectly mirrors his own.

" _What happens to me, happens to her_ ," she tells him, in perfect English. Her body seems to shift and move with each breath – never still.

Rick's lip curls. He hates being this close to her. "Let go of me," he spits. "And get the hell out of my head."

But she doesn't blink, her nails digging into his chest. " _Tell June Moone that what she is looking for is in Manauia's tomb_."

"Tell – what?"

Her huge black eyes bore into his. Spell-like. " _She has to get there first. Do not forget._ "

But Rick's already woken up, his eyes opening instantly. The bedroom is bright with sunlight. Somehow, it's already morning. He groans, trying to pull the covers back over his head.

"Morning to you, too." June is sat cross-legged in bed next to him, still in her pajamas but with her hair wet from a shower and brushed out over her shoulders. The lack of makeup accentuates her dark eyebrows as she frowns down at her phone, scrolling down the screen.

Rick tries to figure out what day it is. "Why aren't you at work?" he mutters, eventually, still struggling to pull himself out of the groggy haze he's in.

"I'm driving to Asheville this afternoon to meet a potential construction officer for the dig. I took the morning off." She glances at him, her face softening. "You look like crap."

"Thanks," he mutters.

"You want me to get you some breakfast?" she offers, already half way out of bed, but Rick grabs her ankle to stop her – last night's dream finally coming back to him.

"June, I need to tell you something."

She catches the serious expression on his face and frowns, setting her phone down on the covers next to her. "Okay…" she says, slowly, nibbling on her lower lip – her expression the picture of trepidation.

He looks at her, trying to figure out how to phrase it so that he doesn't sound crazy. Then he remembers who it is he's talking to, and that June was the person who had to convince Amanda Waller that she was possessed by a witch. He decides to just come out and say it. "I had a dream last night and…the witch was in it. Like, actually there. She told me that…the thing you want is in Manauia's tomb and that you have to be the first person to get there." He speaks slowly, each word thoroughly distasteful to him. He doesn't like playing messenger boy to a dead witch who's inhabiting his girlfriend's body. Especially when he doesn't trust said witch.

June's eyes, however, light up. "You're sure?" she asks, excitedly, already diving for her phone.

"Pretty sure," he replies, dryly, propping himself up on his elbow as he watches June fire a quick email to her boss. "Who the hell is Manauia?"

"The last emperor we have any records of," she explains, practically beaming. "This helps us _so_ much. Now we don't have to go digging up a hundred different graves."

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, disgruntled. June may find the information helpful, but he hadn't particularly appreciated dream-June turning into the Enchantress mid kiss. He was just grateful the dream hadn't been anything raunchier. She shoots him a sympathetic look, as if sensing what he's just thought. "Sorry," she says, patting his leg absentmindedly. "It must've been a bit of a shock."

"A lil' bit," he replies, sarcastically. The moment June sends the email he rolls her underneath him. She squeals at the unexpected movement and he raises his eyebrows wickedly, planting his hands either side of her head. "So, we've got the whole morning to ourselves, huh?"

"Um, yeah," June breathes, the pupils of her eyes blown wide. He loves that she can't hide her emotions – can't hide the effect he has on her. Rick's fingers trail up to the hem of her T Shirt, pushing it up slightly to reveal her flat stomach. June's breathing hitches at his touch, but she doesn't make a sound. It surprises him how much he adores all the different parts of her. He loves that she can be playful and mischievous one minute, and shy and bashful the next. He keeps moving his hand upwards until his thumb brushes the underside of her breast. His eyes meet hers questioningly, and June gives him a barely perceptible nod, her lips pressed together like she does when she'd attempting to hold back a blush. It's not working very well.

Lowering his lips to her throat, Rick completely takes her small breast in one hand, palming it lightly. He can feel June shift beneath him - clearly wanting more - and he begins to press kisses against her neck, occasionally taking her skin between his teeth and nipping gently. He goes slow, and by the time he drags his thumb over June's nipple she actually whimpers out loud, squirming again beneath him.

Small gasps break from her throat as he moves from one breast to the other - his actions becoming more sure with each passing moment. June grows restless, her hands hunting greedily over his own bare chest. Her touch causes goosebumps to erupt on his skin. Rick smirks slightly at her impatience, flipping himself onto his back so that she's sat on top of him. The whole thing feels kind of wrong in the best of ways. Forbidden. He never thought he'd be doing this with _June_ , no matter how much he had wanted to. It means relinquishing every aspect of self-control - not thinking about the rules, for once in their lives.

"Don' rush," he drawls softly, as her hands begin to travel dangerously low towards his boxers. June freezes, a flush in her cheeks and Rick waits whilst she takes a beat, propping himself up against the headboard of the bed. "Take your top off," he instructs, his voice more gravelly than usual. He's not as in control as she thinks he is – he's already hard for her and his words come out slightly strained. She does as instructed, pulling the purple T Shirt over her head and Rick almost groans out loud at the sight of June's bare chest. He's been tortured enough times at night by the soft, firm swell of her breasts pushed up against his chest and months of pent of frustration and cold showers are rapidly weakening Rick's control.

June must see the hunger in his eyes, because the bashfulness begins to drop away – a playful smirk twisting her mouth. "Now what, _Colonel_?" she asks him, spreading her hands flat against his chest. "Because I could do this –" she murmurs, dropping her head to kiss his neck – her lower lip catching against his skin as she speaks. "Or this –" she begins to lick a trail down his throat – " – or this –" she says, taking his nipple between her teeth and biting at is playfully.

Rick hisses, his hand threading through her hair tightly before he can stop himself. When June begins to kiss a trail down his ab muscles, he pulls slightly by reflex and she moans. "I love it when you do that," she admits, gasping against the skin above his hip bone. The jolt that goes through him when she says that is unreal.

"C'mere," he grunts, sliding her up his body so that he can kiss her on the lips for the first time. Her legs fall either side of his chest as he kisses her deeply, one hand tangled in her hair and the other trailing down her spine. June gasps wetly into his mouth when his hand drops to her ass, squeezing one cheek hard. Once more, he can feel her trying to pick up the pace. Her kisses become more frantic as she presses him back against the headboard, leaning up over him. He lets her take control, using his hands in the mean time to shove her underwear down her hips – finally admitting to himself that he's feeling a tiny bit impatient, too.

She's gasping and breathing hard by the time he inserts a finger into her, and Rick thinks he's going to explode under the stunned, wide-eyed look June gives him; as if he's taking her into territory she's never been before. Her damp hair has dried into wild tangles around her face. He never thought he'd be seeing June like this – completely and entirely naked on top of him, grinding her hips down desperately into the palm of his hand – but at the same time, it somehow feels like the most natural thing in the world.

"That's it," Rick grunts encouragingly, as June begins to whimper and squirm once more. He's tempted to lean forwards and kiss her breasts, but he wants to watch her face. He likes seeing the effect he has on her and at the moment, Rick knows exactly what he's doing to June's body. He doesn't need to see the flush on her face to know that she's close. "That's it honey," he mutters to her, barely concentrating on the words leaving his mouth. "Lose it. Come for me."

June gasps, her walls clenching around his fingers - her whole body tensing. Her head rolls back on her neck, her hair cascading down her back. By the time she comes-to again, she's half collapsed against his chest.

"Oh my God," she mumbles, burying her face into his neck. Her tone is almost accusatory. "I didn't realise you would be that good at talking dirty."

Rick rolls his eyes, but can't help the self-satisfied smirk that touches his lips. "It ain't dirty talk when I'm just tellin' you what I'm thinking," he mutters, his fingers trailing down her back absentmindedly. He could get used to the feeling of her warm, naked body stretched out on top of his.

June lifts her head by propping her arms against the headboard – apparently finding the strength in her limbs again. "You're thinking some pretty risqué stuff then, Rick Flag," she chastises, pretending to glare at him…but then he feels her fingers creep down between their bodies to cup him through his boxer shorts.

"You have more of an accent when you're turned on, did you know that?" June adds, teasingly, as she dips her hand beneath the waistband and begins to stroke the entire length of him.

"June, c'mon," he protests, through gritted teeth – because he really can't handle flirting with her when she's got her hand wrapped around his dick. He can barely think straight as it is.

"Come on what?" she asks, innocently, before grinning and leaning in to peck him on the lips. "It sounds sexy."

He groans, lifting his hips so that she can push his underwear completely off. He's not going to last long like this and he grabs June by her elbows, rolling on top of her once more.

Though her eyes are sparkling and her cheeks have an excited flush in them, June tries to stop him from hitching her knees up around his waist.

"Hang on –" she stops him, sounding vaguely winded. "Just…wait a second."

He raises an eyebrow at her, confused that she's let him go _this_ far before stopping him. "What?" he asks, trying not to get distracted by her naked form below him – the light tan and tiny freckles that cover her chest, arms and shoulders as well as her face. _God_ , he wants her.

June's expression is abruptly serious and she sighs, brushing his cheek with the back of her hand. He's never seen her look so resigned. "I just…want to know you've thought this through," she says eventually.

The tension within him releases. He'd been worried she'd been about to use the magic or something as a reason they couldn't have sex – the relief actually makes him smirk. The fact that she wants to know _if he's sure_ is pretty humorous. He's not a teenage girl about to lose their virginity, and he's been wanting June for a long time now. "You know what," he drawls, hooking his hands behind her knees again and pulling them up around his hips, "-I've thought about it –" he admits, resting his weight on his hands more comfortably, " – _a lot_. An' I think I'm okay with it."

She laughs despite herself, but manages to wriggle away just enough that he can't position himself right to enter her. Rick growls in frustration.

"No – Rick - " June objects again. "If we do this, then you're compromised…I already feel guilty that you had to step back from the task force for me. I don't want your job put at risk because we've had sex, as well."

He lets his head drop between his shoulders, finally understanding what she's getting at. Because June had a point, and she was kind of right. She's nearly _always_ right in many ways – but he's not about to tell her that. Rick _would_ be compromised if he did this, and if Waller found out she would either fire him, or use it to manipulate him. If Waller found out, she would almost certainly use it to make him join her meta-human squad.

Rick looks June in the eye again, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "June, this was never just about sex. You know that, right?"

"Yeah," she admits, almost too quietly for him to hear. "I know." She reaches up and strokes the stubble along his jaw line. "And I really like you."

He smiles a bit. "I like you too."

"…and if you're okay with this, then I am too."

He hesitates, unwilling to drag this out when all he really wants to do is have sex. The anticipation is killing him. "June, you're not exactly the best liar," he points out, reluctantly.

"For us, I can do it," she insists. "No one has to know."

Her words are tantalizingly promising, and his self-restraint is rapidly weakening. His whole body is practically aching for her – his breathing is still slightly faster than usual and his heart is thudding painfully hard in his chest.

"You're sure?" he checks.

She nods, wrapping her arms around his neck, her legs tightening perceptibly around his waist as she draws him in closer. "Your sure?" she echoes him – the concern behind the question somewhat mired by the fact that her eyes keep dropping to his lips.

"Oh yeah," he mutters – words which end in a hiss as his grip on her legs tightens and he finally pushes into her. She's everything he could have dreamed of – hot and wet and tight. June's back instantly arches until only the crown of her head touches the pillow.

Once he's completely inside her he stops, lowering his head and panting against her cheek. The effort of not moving is almost torturous. "You okay?" he asks – almost a moan – and June nods quickly, her chest heaving with shallow breaths.

"Yeah," she gasps. "Go – move –" Her words break off in a wordless cry as he slides out carefully before ramming straight back into her, setting a slow but forceful pace. He can feel June's toes curl as her heels press into the small of his back. He's aware of everything she does – her every reaction. When he moves to grip the headboard, using the leverage to thrust into her harder, she moans out loud, her nails biting into his shoulders. " _Yes_ ," she groans, her hips working against his in a furious rhythm – too fast – he can feel moisture beading on his forehead from the exertion. He knows he's not going to last much longer, and he shifts position again slightly, trying to find the spot that'll let her cut loose.

He must do something right, because June suddenly cries out again beneath him. Rick's struggling to keep the controlled precision to his thrusts, and he drops his arm from the wall to once again prop himself up on his hands on the bed. Every muscle in his body is burning from the effort and he buries his face into June's exposed neck, trying to hold it together.

"You like that?" he growls, and by way of reply he feels her walls automatically clench around him.

"Oh God," she moans – and every hair on his body stands on end, because he's never heard June's voice quite like _this_ before. Then the same word strung together almost unintelligibly spills from her lips: " _Yes-yes-yes-yes_ -"

She comes just as he does. For a moment Rick tenses up completely above her, gasping as his hips still move erratically. Everything is a white blur, and when he can see again he manages to push himself off of June before he crushes her, collapsing in a tangle of bed sheets at her side.

He can hear June trying to steady her breathing next to him, and then her hand travels across the covers to capture his.

"I can't…believe…we haven't done that before now," she pants, finally, gazing up at the ceiling with a dazed expression on her face.

Rick rolls onto his side, his smirk vaguely roguish. "We can do it again," he tells her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. But she shakes her head, laughing.

"Just…give me a minute."

* * *

 **A/N** Much as I love that Rick and June have finally had sex, I think my favourite part of this chapter is actually Rick's dream.

Thank you everyone for all your continuing support for this story. There aren't that many MoonexFlag fics on fanfiction at the moment, so I'm glad this one is still getting attention despite that.

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	21. Chapter 21

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 21**

* * *

 _ **June**_

She was having the best sex of her life, and June could quite happily have spent the rest of her week mooning around the office, day-dreaming about Rick – completely forgetting about A.R.G.U.S and the Enchantress. But as it was, Rob had taken to bursting into her office five times a day to theorise over what was in the tomb, and Melissa kept snapping at her to fill out mountains of paperwork, because – as she kept reminding her – 'you sure as hell didn't do any last time'. Not to mention that Rick was driving her to the army base every Wednesday for testing…though technically it wasn't June _herself_ that was being studied.

Those sessions irritated her – partly because _she_ would have been interested in studying the Enchantress, too – but also because June didn't like the fact that nobody paid her any attention. Nobody apart from Rick cared that this was her body. Nobody apart from Rick cared how scary it was to walk into a cell with no windows and hundreds of cameras and voluntarily let your consciousness be erased for hours on end. To A.R.G.U.S., June wasn't important. The Enchantress was. Stepping into that building she practically turned invisible. She may as well not have been a person anymore.

When Rick unlocks the door to the house after her most recent session, June stomps inside crankily. He throws the car keys on the side as June moves around the kitchen, making herself a mug of tea.

"Did you get a chance to ask her about what's actually in the tomb?" she asks him, stiffly, as he leans against the kitchen counter. She hates that she can't do it for herself – that she has to rely on others to communicate with and censor the Enchantress for her.

"Ask who?" he asks, distractedly.

" _Dzmor_ ," June looks at him, wondering what planet he's on – because they _talked_ about this. She swears they did.

"Oh, yeah, I did – right in front of Waller," Rick says, sarcastically, taking in the annoyed expression on her face. "Listen, you know I don't –"

" – trust her –" June finishes for him, exasperatedly. "Yeah. You've told me. But just because talking to her gives you the creeps –"

" _Yeah_ , actually,it _does_ give me the creeps, June. You know why? Because it's _your_ body, an' I don't like it when she just…takes over like that."

"Oh, _you_ don't like it?" June shoots back at him, dumping her tea bag in the trash with more force than strictly necessary.

Rick sighs, approaching her as she rounds on him and slipping his arms around her waist. "Don' be like that," he mutters.

"Be like what?" June bites out, acerbic - because his southern drawl and brown eyes aren't going to work on her this time. "Because I'm supposed to be fine with everything, apparently."

He rolls his eyes at her tone. "…C'mon….what's wrong?"

But June's lower lip wobbles, and she knows she's not going to be able to talk without crying as well. She takes a deep breath, looking around their kitchen, which neither of them have had the time or the energy to tidy in three days. It's a mess – food lies out on the counter and the table is drowning under June's paperwork. Unfolded laundry is piled high on every chair. June didn't even realise she and Rick _owned_ that many clothes.

"I just hate it," she chokes out, eventually, scrubbing angrily at the tears that fall onto her cheeks. "I can – can – handle everything else, you know? The nightmares and stuff. But it's how they make me _feel_ about myself. Like I'm _nothing_!" Her voice grows high and choked as she tries to force the words out. "They don't care about me at all!….And work's _crazy_ and the house is – is a mess."

June can see the different balls she's been trying to juggle for the past few days falling out of the air all at once. She can feel her jaw ache with the effort of holding back a sob. Everything in her life just doesn't seem to be working, and the fact that she's breaking down now makes everything worse. She'd been strong for so long.

"I'm _not_ okay," she grinds out, hating herself a little bit for admitting it. Especially to Rick, when this should have been one of the happiest weeks of her life. "And I'm _not_ fine, and A.R.G.U.S just _expect_ me to be a good girl and – and –"

Rick makes a consoling sound as she breaks off, his hand cradling the back of her head as if she were a small child. His thumb rubs at her hair – it feels nice.

"I'm sorry," June blubbers into his jacket, crying in earnest now. "This really wasn't how I wanted this week to go."

"You don' have anything to be sorry for," he murmurs – so calmly that she believes him.

When she stops crying, he pulls back a little bit to kiss her on the forehead.

"You know that to me, you're always the most important person in the room, right?" Rick says, his intense gaze arresting hers. This close, she can see exactly how sharp his cheekbones are – the slightly hooded lids over bright amber eyes. "…an' you don't always have to be okay for me. You don't always have to have everything together."

Somehow, they are the exact words she needs to hear – even if it doesn't change the fact that A.R.G.U.S see her as little more than a tool, or that she has so much riding – personally and professionally – on the next few weeks. Because Rick has reminded her of the one constant in her life: him.

June swallows, an abrupt laugh bubbling up and bursting out of her lips. "Even though we live in a pig sty?"

"I dunno…" he smirks, looking round. "I mean, if this place gets any worse, it could officially become a health hazard." She snorts, and he kisses her on the lips this time. "Why don' you take tomorrow off work?" he suggests, mumbling against her mouth. His arms tighten slightly around her. "We can go somewhere. Do something."

"Mmm, you're just saying that because you want to get laid," she teases, wrapping her arms round his neck and pushing up onto her toes so that they're faces are closer together.

He flashes a grin. "Yeah," he admits. "But it would be good for you to get away from everythin'."

It's a nice idea, and in her mind's eye June can see them taking a road trip together. But she also knows that it's not going to happen. "Rick, I can't take time off of work. I've got too much to do, and Melissa would go _crazy_ if she found out you and I –"

"C'mon –" he tempts, kissing her more deeply. His nose brushes against hers as his hands dance up her waist. "You and me –"

She rolls her eyes as best she can. " _No_ –"

At her emphatic rejection, Rick heaves a sigh, unpeeling himself from her easily. June almost laughs at the transparent attempt at seduction and she tightens her grip on his shoulders before he can properly step away.

"But dinner out tonight -?" she suggests, raising her eyebrows. "That's getting out of the house, right?"

His eyes narrow, and she can see him considering it. "We'd have to be careful," he says, eventually – sounding reluctant. "No PDA. Nothin' fancy."

"So romantic," June replies, dryly.

Since they'd started the relationship, Rick had become obsessively strict about touching in public. Caution took him to extremes: when at A.R.G.U.S, he barely so much as glanced at her and the flirting around her office had completely stopped. It would have driven her insane had Rick not always more than made up for it when they were alone together.

"Hey, you're talkin' to Mr. Romance," he teases, and she actually laughs out loud. Rick was many things – and he could be charming when he wanted to be – but romantic he was not. The thought of the taciturn soldier attempting to be suave had her grinning to herself every time the thought entered her head for the next week.

It's a relief to get out of the house. They pick a non-descript, chain Italian restaurant in the center of the city. By the time Rick and June have parked up, night has long since fallen and the city streets are filled with candy-cane coloured lights and families enjoying evening strolls. Though June knows that this is all supposed to be non-descript, she couldn't help but dress up slightly for the occasion – picking out a billowy, ruffled white blouse and her usual brogues. She looks ridiculously over-dressed next to Rick. Though he's not exactly wearing his uniform, he's still dressed in his usual bomber jacket…June wouldn't be surprised if he had his gun hidden somewhere in there as well.

Her palms feel clammy when the waiter winks understandingly at them and assures them to a private table nestled into the corner of the restaurant. Though June is trying her hardest to look casual, she can't help the grin that presses against her lips every time she looks at Rick. This was basically a date. They were on a date, and no one could know. It was simultaneously thrilling and ridiculous.

She keeps nudging his foot playfully under the table every time he looks too serious, and in the end Rick kicks her back lightly. "Cut it out," he drawls, though he's smirking as his eyes run down the list of meals on the menu.

"I can't help it," June grins, biting down on her lip. "I'm excited."

"Yeah, well, you don' have to kick me."

She nudges him again and he growls under his breath lowly, muttering something to himself. June rolls her eyes.

"Can you take your jacket off at the table?" she asks, after the waiter takes their order and sets a bread basket down between them. "You look like you're about to arrest someone." It was hard to pretend like they were a normal couple when Rick looked as if he were about to run off chasing meta-humans at any moment.

He takes the jacket off dutifully, raising an eyebrow at her as he slings it over the back of his seat. "Better?"

June, taking in his tight grey T Shirt, tries to make a show of acting nonchalant – taking a sip from her wine so he can't see the expression on her face. "Yep."

They both order pizza, and Rick is approximately half way through his – when June is only on her third bite – when a voice rings out: "Oh my God… _June_?"

June lifts her head, startled, to see the couple that has been seated at the table closest to theirs. She recognises them both easily; they are both her own age – the girl has sleek, blonde hair and side bangs and the guy has the look of a professional athlete. Which he had been, when they had all been at college together. Now Jason Austin ran an events management company and his fiancé, Rebecca, was doing something to do with marketing.

June blinks rapidly, as if barely daring to believe her eyes. She'd seen Becca regularly since they left college, but somehow, June hadn't been expecting to run into her. Maybe it was the fact that, since all the Enchantress stuff, Becca and Jason now felt like part of an old life. A different life.

Still, June feels a rush of excitement at seeing them both. She squeals, and she and Becca both stand from their seats to hug each other.

"How areyou!" the shorter girl asks her. She's had her hair cut recently into a long bob. It makes her look older – more mature. The effect is slightly startling. At twenty-six, Becca and Jason both look like adults. Grown-ups. It feels like barely yesterday that they were teenagers. "How was Mexico? Was it good? Did you find what you were looking for?"

June flushes, fumbling for the right words. Eventually she forces out: "Um – yeah. It was good!" Her voice is so falsely cheerful, it's a wonder that someone as shrewd as Becca doesn't see through it. June's only saving grace is that the young woman clearly has her mind on other things.

"What's going on with you?" she asks, frowning slightly. "We haven't heard from you…we sent an invitation to the wedding and never heard back." It's clear that she's doing her best to keep the annoyance out of her voice, but there's a slight edge there that causes mortification to settle deep in June's stomach. Reflexively, she looks at Rick – as if he will somehow help her. He's got both elbows on the table, watching them all carefully as if June's old college friends might potentially be a security threat. Her glance draws Becca's attention, and her gaze fall on Rick, too – her eyes widening perceptibly.

June rushes to explain – or at least to come up with some kind of excuse. She is abruptly aware of how Rick looks to her friends – nine years older than her and with a palpably dangerous, steely air about him. "I never got an invitation," she explains, wincing apologetically. "I – er- moved in with Rick about a month ago and still haven't re-directed my mail to his house."

Becca only gapes at her for a moment. June wasn't the kind of person that just picked up her whole life and moved in with a guy within weeks. It was unheard of…though Becca didn't know the move hadn't exactly been voluntary.

"So – um – this is Rick. Flag," June introduces, blushing.

He holds his hand out for Becca to shake, looking completely unfazed by June's embarrassment and Becca's stunned confusion. "Hey – how're you."

She takes it, still looking vaguely dazed. Her eyes keep flying between him and June, as if trying to reconcile the two very different people together in her head.

"Erm…hi," she says, forcing a smile. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "I'm Becca. June and I are friends from college…" she looks at Rick, as if weighing him on some kind of invisible scale. June knows that pretty soon Becca is going to start asking a lot of awkward questions – she's both smart and shrewd enough to know that June wouldn't pick up with a thirty-five year old guy out of the blue.

She and Rick return to their food, but it's not the same now that Becca and Jason are now sat directly next to them. Though the couple leave them alone and soon get caught up in their own private conversations, June feels tense – uncomfortable. Her guard's back up and she can tell that Rick feels the same way. They leave earlier than they were planning on, barely pausing to say goodbye before hurrying out of the restaurant.

If that didn't look suspicious, June didn't know what did.

Trying to salvage what was left of the night, June buys them both ice cream from a street vendor. Though it's technically almost summer, the nights are still pleasantly warm in Charlotte instead of humid and sticky and they spend an hour or so simply walking down the main street – the skyscrapers towering above them, windows filled with golden light. It's a relief not to worry about being overheard, and June quickly relaxes, falling back into an easy conversation with Rick after their strained small-talk at the restaurant.

"Mmm – damn," she mutters, licking melted chocolate ice cream off the inside of her wrist and simultaneously trying to fish her phone out of her bag.

"What is it?" Rick asks. Like June, he seems far more relaxed – his posture easy and loose. They both walk slowly, ambling up the street as cars drive past and groups of people spill out of bars and clubs.

It's June's facebook that has thrown up the notification – a message from Becca. She reads it, wrinkling her nose. "It's Becca…she wants to know how we met."

Rick smirks, taking a lick of his ice cream. "Why don' you tell her I'm a male stripper and you met me at a club?"

June chokes on air before laughing. "…You know what? Somehow, I don't think she'll buy it."

"BASE-jumping?"

She bites down on her lip to supress her smirk, looking down at the blank reply box as she tries to figure out what to send back. "Booze cruise?" she suggests, jokingly.

"Alrigh' how about…you met me because I'm your drug dealer?" He teases, but June latches onto it.

"That's a good one – I'm going to use that."

"Nah – don't –" Rick protests, trying to take the phone off of her as June begins to type with her free hand.

" _Hey_ –" she objects, giggling – trying to fight him off as best she can despite the fact that she's holding her mobile in one hand and an ice cream in her other. "This is our _cover story_ – stop – this is what we're going to tell everyone!" He succeeds in wrestling the phone out of her grip and June's eyes widen. "Give that back!"

But Rick uses his superior height to hold it above her head and even with a few jumping attempts, June can't reach it. She feels like a small child, and she shoves against Rick's chest in frustration – though of course, he barely moves - breathless with laughter. "You're a dick!"

But they're abruptly too close together. It would be so easy to kiss him right now. She _wants_ to kiss him right now. The thought causes June's breath to catch and the smile to freeze on her face. Her heart clenches in her chest as she looks up at Rick…it occurs to her that she's never felt this way about anyone before in her life.

His eyes are unnaturally dark – almost predatory – and June can tell he's thinking along the same line she is.

They slip like shadows into a narrow, dead-end side street round the back of the nearest bar. It's grimy, full of garbage – the extractor fans blowing out smokey steam from the basement kitchens in white swirls. Where no one can see them, Rick loops an arm around June's waist and kisses her deeply. Her heart palpitates. The kiss isn't rushed or as urgent as some of their others and it's the fact that Rick so clearly takes his time that takes her breath away. His lips are warm and soft against hers, one hand cradling the side of her face. Ardent.

She realises then that he likes her – _really_ likes her. This wasn't just a case of pent up sexual tension or good chemistry anymore. It was a relationship, even if they hadn't put a label on it.

When June tries to push herself up onto her toes to kiss him back, she feels the corner of Rick's mouth curve up into a smirk. He lets her take the lead as she wraps her arm around his neck, kissing him back enthusiastically. More earnest than passionate. She doesn't have Rick's ability to make her very bones feel like they are melting, but she knows her form of passion and affection affects him in a different way.

He pulls away after a while, looking down at her with his chin slightly lifted – that way of regarding another person that always makes him look as if he's weighing someone on a set of invisible scales. There's a warmth to Rick's gaze, however, that June has only seen directed at her. Instead of looking arrogant, he just looks amused. The perpetual crease along his brow line is smoothed out – for once he looks utterly relaxed and untroubled.

"We should probably get goin'," he says, interlacing his hands behind her back and hugging her in closer to him.

Everything feels impossibly warm. The rich sound of his slight Texan drawl; the physical, comfortable heat of his body.

"We should," June agrees, though she suddenly finds she doesn't want to move.

She's happy.

* * *

June wakes a few minutes before her alarm, like she always does. She yawns sleepily, kicking the overly-hot covers off of her legs and wincing at the aches and pains in her body. She's got a stiff shoulder, and there's a familiar soreness in between her legs – she smiles slightly to herself, turning onto her side to look at Rick. He's still fast asleep, stretched out on his back the way he always lies. Looking at him like this – when everything is so still, so calm – June gets a tugging feeling in her heart.

Then her alarm goes off, shrill an insistent. Rick groans loudly, rolling away from her, exposing the raw-looking scratch marks she's left down his back. " _Turn it off_ ," he grunts, sleepily. June rolls her eyes, and pushes herself out of bed – turning the lights on as she leaves the bedroom by way of revenge.

Their only bathroom is perhaps the smallest room in the house, with wood-panelled walls and a chipped bath-come-shower. June steps under the shower-spray with a sigh, relishing in the feeling of hot water on her aching muscles. Though she has work, and every second in the morning counts, she lingers for a while before lathering her hair with shampoo. She watches steam cloud the mirror on the cupboard and condense into water droplets on the walls. She feels strangely sluggish for some reason – her vision blurry – something she blames on a late night and the fact that she fell asleep with her contact lenses in.

But then June reaches for the shampoo bottle and her hand overshoots. She catches herself on the lip of the tub, abruptly feeling horribly dizzy.

" _Ah_ –" she mutters, raising a hand to the side of her head. Her vision has become so fuzzy she can barely see. June opens her mouth – about to call Rick for help – when there's a familiar refraction of neon colour in the light around her. June's vision slips, and once again she finds herself in an ancient world…one that's beginning to feel painfully familiar with each visit.

Dzmor has not aged a day, though June somehow knows instinctively that it has been hundreds of years since the last memory took place. Her dark hair is longer – half of it intricately held back from her face with jewels and braids. She wears a gown of deep blue, with a daringly plunging neckline that exposes a seductive amount of cleavage. The confident, strong woman is a far cry from the imprisoned child, or the trusting, excitable girl.

The chamber is filled with people dressed in robes of various colours and richness – a crowd of people gathered for an event June can only consider to be a party, though it feels odd to attribute the word to such an ancient people. Wine and food is laid out across a long table at one corner of the room – a warm glow is emitted from numerous fire places carved into the stone walls.

Dzmor sits in a throne at the center of the room, accompanied by her most recent husband. To June's surprise they seem genuinely affectionate towards one another; despite everything, they both seem to treat each other as equals. Though people stare and reverently approach the throne to bow at their feet, her husband seems to treat her as little more than human. The love clearly written on the Enchantress's face is the first genuine emotion June has seen from her.

The woman June sees now – though confident in a slightly arrogant way – seems too… _normal_ for the role the people want her to bear. There was Dzmor, and then there was this _God_ with which she shared mannerisms and looks. But the Enchantress was an all-powerful symbol whereas Dzmor, to June, was clearly nothing more than a flawed, slightly selfish, human woman. Albeit, one with incredible power and who had been granted an immortal life.

It was clearly a part she was used to playing – looking imperiously down on the room; never talking directly to her subjects in a manner that would imply she saw them as equals. Held up on a kind of perpetual pedestal – both literal and metaphorical - it seemed to be the people that confirmed her role rather than she herself. They needed a God, so they had created one in her. Their whispered asides, their looks of awe, their bowing and scraping gestures – all this had trapped Dzmor into behaving as something _more_ , and trapped her into believing she was something she was not. As a child, she had been made to believe she was a monster. Why not now a God?

June watches, fascinated by the continual shower of reverence and adoration the people show her throughout the evening. It is not until a slave accidentally spills wine on Dzmor's dress that June realises where the true power lies.

The whole room instantly and intuitively freezes as the wine jug is dropped down the front of that rich, blue material. Where June had once seen Dzmor treat her slaves with awe and interest, it is clear that now she sees them as little more than toys. Her mouth twists into a forced smile, making fake reassurances as the male slave apologises, visibly quaking with fear. Sweat beads on his brow, running down his bronzed skin. With a wave of the Enchantress's hand, the nervous man suddenly becomes a pillar of fire. Shrieking, but unable to move his skin blackens and peels as he is burnt alive before the entire room, which has turned deathly silent. Though Dzmor's husband does not flinch, he glances at her sharply. After a few moments of the torture he rests his hand on her arm – a clear instruction to stop. The fire instantly dies and the man falls to the ground, still alive and twitching. His skin burnt away to reveal charred flesh – his eye sockets and teeth shockingly white and grotesquely visible.

June is revolted by the sadistic satisfaction in the Enchantress's eyes – so caught up in watching her that she fails to at first register the reaction of the people. Far from being awed, they look tense and scared by such a flippant display of magic. It is clear that Godly, omnipotent actions – such as healing a city of people or changing the weather – is somehow preferable to them when compared with such small, malicious magic tricks. Somehow, for the first time, they seem to see the individual behind the mask of a deity. The fallible human with the power of a God.

Dzmor must see it, too. The satisfaction in her eyes is replaced by something else: fear. Sat on her throne in the middle of the room, she abruptly seems isolated and weak. For all her powers, it is obvious that she is still at the mercy of the people who elevated her. She looks about herself wildly like a cornered animal, taking in the faces that have turned from adoration to disgust. Awe to terror. Her shoulders hunch and she licks her lips nervously.

June remembers the promise Ankita had once made: _They will see you as you really are…_

An unsettled murmur ripples through the room. Almost intangible and impossible to detect a source.

All business, the emperor quickly rises – signalling significantly to two of the nearest guards. Dzmor looks up at him, eyes-wide, but he avoids her gaze. She is quickly and hurriedly assured from the room.

Once more something to be feared and hidden in a dark pit away from the light.

* * *

 **A/N** Not particularly happy with this chapter - life's been a bit hectic so writing this felt rushed. I tried to fix it by editing it several times, but it still doesn't feel quite right. I'm happy to report, however, that I've got a few chapters coming up that I _am_ proud of, and I'm super excited for you guys to read them.

In other news, I'm in love with the Harley Quinn/Deadshot pairing at the moment, so if anyone knows of any good stories on here, let me know!

Don't forget to leave a **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	22. Chapter 22

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 22**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

Rick and Rooster meet half way between the army base and Charlotte – a thirty minute drive out of the city. They pick a divey bar attached on to an equally seedy looking motel that sits immediately off the free-way – chosen more because it is one of the only places that still lets patrons drink _and_ smoke rather than for its ambience.

Most of the guys in the place look pretty rough, and the women wear insanely short skirts with their cowboy boots. Rooster insists that it's the only decent place within miles.

He and Rick sit at the sticky wooden bar. There's a cluster of empty shot glasses in front of Rooster – along with a beer – and Rick is nursing his third scotch. They don't have to worry about being overheard: the country-music being played from the juke-box is almost deafening and Rick has already carefully surveyed the room for any potential A.R.G.U.S employees. They would have no reason to follow him – only June – but he can't be too careful these days.

When Roosters asks how June is, Rick takes a deep breath. "We're sleepin' together," he admits, pretending to rub at his upper lip so that anyone watching won't see his lips move. On a different day, under different circumstances, he might not have told Rooster. But tonight he needs to get some things off of his chest, and they've both been drinking.

" _You're kidding me_!?" Rooster's eyebrows – bleached colourless from years and years working out in the sun – rise up into his hairline. His expression is mixture of disbelief and dubiousness.

" _Keep it down_ ," Rick snaps at him, glaring angrily past Rooster at the guy at the other end of the bar. But he's too busy chatting up the girl sat across his knee to be paying them much attention.

Rooster lets out a low whistle. He taps some loose ash from the end of his cigarette into the ash tray sat between them – clearly trying to kill time. "You're sleeping….with June," he verifies, slowly – as if he can't quite believe his ears. Rick doesn't understand it. Rooster was the one who was pushing him to do it in the first place.

"Yeah – what – why are you lookin' at me like that?" Rick asks, jerking his head round in time to catch Rooster's slight wince as he takes a pull from his beer.

"I dunno…it just must take a lot of nerve," the other man says, warming to the conversation. "Like, how do you get it up -?"

"What do you mean _how do I get it up_?" Rick snaps, offended – tossing back the remainder of his drink and raising his hand to indicate for a new one.

"Well, she's possessed. You ever worry that she'll, like, change into that witch halfway through…y'know."

"Well, _now_ I am," Rick shoots back, irritable, as the bar tender hands over his beer. He doesn't bother paying – he and Rooster have an open tab going which the other man seems to be taking full advantage of.

"That's weird, dude."

He rolls his eyes. "Thanks for the support."

Rooster holds a hand up by way of apology. "Don't get me wrong, Rick, I'm happy for you."

" – yeah? –" he replies, sarcastically.

"No. I am. Look, I have met June…" he squeezes one eye shut, " – three times now. And she is _into_ you. She likes you. I'm serious." Rick still looks unconvinced and Rooster stubs out his cigarette, turning on his stool to face Rick fully. "Okay. Listen. We both know…some girls are badge bunnies. They like a soldier. And they're with you for a couple'a months before they realise they can't hack it and take a hike –" Rick nods absentmindedly in agreement, staring into his drink. "But June's different. She's gonna stick around until the end, dude. For sure."

"You reckon?"

"Do I reckon -?" Rooster blusters – apparently shocked that someone would doubt his well of knowledge on relationships. He stares at Rick, catching the strange reluctance in the other man's tone for the first time. "Alright, what's going on with you?"

Rick squints down at the bar, trying to decide how to phrase things. It's been niggling at him for an entire week – such a small, stupid problem. He rubs a hand over his short-cut hair. "She wants me to go to this wedding with her on Sunday," he explains, eventually. "As a couple. It's some of her friends from college and they're all, like…insanely young," he breaks off, realising it sounds even stupider out loud than it did in his mind. He scratches at the back of his neck, trying to act nonchalant. "I don't know, man. I guess I'm just feeling my age."

Rooster nods sagely. "Worried she'll be turned off by those grey hairs, huh?"

By way of response, Rick rests his face in his hands with a muffled groan - beginning to realise that Rooster was probably a bad choice for an in-depth discussion of this nature. He'd automatically rejected Grant as an option – there was no way he'd get it – and after him, Rick had known Rooster the longest out of all the guys.

"Just go to the damn wedding with her," Rooster slurs slightly, apparently unfazed by the fact that Rick is sat next to him with his head in his hands. He squints into his beer bottle as he talks, trying to figure out how much he has left. "Show those little twerps who she belongs to. It's biological. We have a _need_ to stake our claim. It's a guy thing."

"I'm not – I don't – I'm not _worried_ some kid's gunna take her," Rick cuts in, looking up in exasperation. "I just…nine years is a big…it's a big age gap. I don't know what she wants from me."

"Alright, well…" Rooster knuckles at his forehead, thinking. "What is it _you_ want from the relationship?"

" _What_?" Rick looks at him, startled despite the fact that it's what he's been agonising over for the past week.

Rooster ignores him. "I'll tell you what you want, Rick – you wanna stay with June fr'ever and ever an' you wanna make cute like Flag-Moone babies with her, an' it scares you that she's at a point in her life right now where she might not want the same thing."

"Okay, nobody said anythin' about kids," he rolls his eyes, swallowing more of his drink – because there is _no way_ he is drunk enough for this conversation. "But that last bit is essentially correct."

Rooster tries to supress a burp whilst simultaneously attempting to say with his usual swagger: "I only speak the truth."

"Right," Rick returns, with a sceptical furrow in his brow as he glances at the other man.

Still, Rick can't help but think over what Rooster has said during the long cab journey home. Since he and June started things up, everything has been great. The sex has been amazing - and there are also small, unexpected things – like the way they just seem to take things slower; linger in bed a little longer or talk until later into the night instead of rushing off to do their own thing. June also seems to be less bothered about hiding away her bad side. Good lord, the girl could sulk when she wanted to. Rick's never seen her yell, but he knows that she can get snippy and defensive, and that he has to head her off before she clams up and doesn't speak to him for the rest of the day. In turn, he's more quick to snap at her. Maybe it's because he now knows that June – mousy as she is – can give as good as she gets, or maybe it's because he knows that she can take it, and venting through his problems will ultimately make him feel better in the long run. They're both more comfortable around each other…but Rick can't help but be anxious about the bigger picture. He can't just take each day as it comes. It's not in his nature.

What exactly was it they were doing here? Because if she just thinks it's messing around, they're not on the same page. Rick knows that June cares about him – he does. But he doesn't know if she cares about him like he cares about her, and with each passing day it's making him more and more jumpy.

When he staggers into the house – slightly buzzed – June is still awake. She's stretched out on the sofa watching Friday night TV in her pajamas – the curtains drawn and the lights on. She looks like she's had a hard day at work – he can tell by the way she's slumped, barely lifting her head from the arm rest as he comes in.

"Hey," she says, tucking her knees into her chest to give him room. He dumps himself down onto the couch next to her – slouched low - and she pats his leg absentmindedly. "Good night?"

"Yeah." Rick's eyes fall onto a large black plastic dish on the floor – a mess of food still inside. "What is that?"

"Ready-meal lasagne. It's probably cold by now but…knock yourself out," she adds, watching with amusement as he scoops it up off the carpet and helps himself. Rick will eat anything – which is probably a good thing considering June's cooking is pretty hit and miss.

"I've been thinking," he starts, as he prods the fork around the lasagne. "About the wedding on Sunday."

"Mmm?" June replies, propping her head up on her elbow. Though her voice sounds distracted, she's turned away from the TV, giving him her full attention.

"I'm gunna come."

She grins. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

She flips her position so that her head is rested on his shoulder. "Aww…thank you!"

"You knew I would've had to come anyway," he points out, dryly.

"Because you can't say 'no' to me?" June guesses, raising both eyebrows.

Rick rolls his eyes. "Because I'm your security detail."

She grins, and then shifts her cheek so that she can look him in the eye better. "What changed your mind?" she asks, curiously. Rick had been digging his heels in the whole week over the issue – evasively changing the topic or muttering something under his breath every time she brought the topic up.

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat….He changed his mind because he wanted to show some form of commitment to her. He changed his mind because he wants to see if she likes him just as much as he likes her. Rick spoons a forkful of pasta into his mouth. "Just did," he explains, through a mouthful of food.

June looks sceptical, but for once in her life seems to think better of pushing the issue – probably excited that he's agreed to go in the first place. On Rick's part, he still feels vaguely reluctant. He'll have to go into base early tomorrow morning and ask Waller for the Sunday off of training – a conversation he's not particularly looking forward to. Especially when he can imagine the exact way she'll raise an eyebrow at _that_ particular request.

Still, by the time the day rolls round, he's beginning to feel marginally better about the whole thing. There's a palpable difference that morning as they both get ready…though he can't put a finger on what exactly it is. As Rick locks the house door behind them, it occurs to him that it feels like gazing through the Looking Glass to if he and June had met under different circumstances. There's no hiding anything – no worry. They'd already agreed that they would tell A.R.G.U.S that Rick was accompanying her under the guise of being her boyfriend. He hooks an arm around June's waist whilst she's waiting for him to lock up – kissing her briefly in full view of the entire street; something they never normally would have been able to do.

"You look great," he tells her, honestly. What he means to say, however, is that she looks incredible. June's wearing a short, emerald green wrap dress and a large bronze necklace that covers most of her chest and throat. She's also wearing heels and a fair amount of dark makeup around her eyes. The sweet, mousy side she often put on show had been replaced by a more daring, adventurous persona. Whilst Rick knew many people would have thought she looked completely different, to him she still looked like the same June he'd always known.

June bites her lip, smoothing a hand down the front of his suit. It was the one he normally wore for important work meetings, and he finds himself wishing he'd made a bit more of an effort for her – bought a newer suit or something. "So do you," she smiles, her voice husky with sincerity.

The wedding itself is nice, held in the gardens of a large country house. They have to drive well out of Charlotte – past lush, flat farmland – to get to it. When they pull up in the gravel car park, Rick instantly spots two men with sunglasses and earpieces hovering around the house – bored. Not everyone appreciates guard duty like he does.

June sees them too, glancing across at Rick. "A.R.G.U.S?"

"Yeah… but don' worry about them," he tells her, quickly. He doesn't want June worrying about that kind of thing today, and he smoothly assures her round the back towards the gardens. When Rick glances over his shoulder, the Suits are still there, watching them – but they don't come any closer than the parking lot. Rick rolls his shoulders, trying to alleviate some of the tenseness that's suddenly settled into the muscle.

He's been to a couple of weddings in his time, and he appreciates the simplicity of this one. There's a lot of people attending and he and June blend in pretty seamlessly – though Rick notices that most of the guests are single and all seem to know one another…treating the event more as a college reunion than a wedding. June had already informed him that Becca and Jason were the first couple from her class to get married; all the way through the ceremony, she keeps on muttering under her breath: "I can't believe this is actually happening."

Rick can't understand why not. He looks at the girl as she walks down the aisle, and looks at the way her soon-to-be-husband is staring at her – it seems pretty clear to him that they're perfect for each other.

"How come?" he mutters, tilting his head to whisper in June's ear. But she just shakes her head silently. Rick notices that her eyes are slightly wet.

The reception afterwards is lively – held in a gigantic marque out on the lawn. Rick and June weave through the crowd clutching glasses of champagne. Rick notices that there's a lot of back-slapping and squeals of excitement as old friends run into one another again. He feels weird not wearing his ear-piece in for once in his life – feeling the absence of the constant stream of chatter and the crackle of static in his ear. He forcibly reminds himself that he is not here on a mission – he is here for June. As a normal guy. As a partner.

After a while, Rick grows aware of the fact that June seems unwilling to leave him by himself, so he alleviates her guilt by striking up a conversation with the best man at the bar – who also happens to be an avid fan of the Dallas Cowboys. June soon gets so bored that she voluntarily slips away from his side.

"I'll see you later, alright?" she says, a hint of exasperation in her voice.

Rick barely glances up at her as she rises from her seat - intent on an argument over the new quarterback. "Yeah – okay – see you later," he replies, distractedly, as June presses a kiss to his cheek.

After a while, the guy is whisked away by his girlfriend. Rick turns around and leans his elbows back against the bar, looking around for June – catching sight of her standing in the middle of a large group, talking animatedly. He's not particularly bothered to be alone, and takes the chance to watch her carefully. Her cheeks are flushed with laughter and Rick notices with a raised eyebrow that she draws the attention of more than one male eye when they think he's not looking. Rick's only ever seen June interact with people one-on-one; he's never seen her in the midst of a large crowd of people she knows well. She's jokey – happy – like she is with him. Rick swallows more of his drink…unwilling to draw her away despite the fact that he's now by himself. He doesn't want to be _that_ guy.

After a while, however, June senses his gaze on her, and abruptly her piercing blue eyes meet his across the floor. The live band select a slower, jazzier tune. The music pitches low. June makes her way across the dance floor towards him, and he's unable to stop a crooked smile breaking across his face as she gets closer. Her hand snakes around his waist.

"Do you want to dance?"

"D'you have to ask?" he smirks down at her, pulling her onto the dance floor. "C'mon."

They find a spot and Rick circles his arms around her waist as June cants hers lazily over his shoulders. Their faces are close together – creating a private bubble of space around them. It feels good to be finally be with her like this.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" she asks, as they sway slowly.

Rick merely shrugs, not wanting to lie. "You are. That's what counts."

She exhales, smiling apologetically up at him. Her fingernails scratch at the nape of his neck reassuringly. "Thank you. For coming."

Rick nods. He looks down at June for a long moment, deliberating in his head "…do you miss it?" he asks her, eventually.

She doesn't ask what it is she's supposed to miss - June somehow knows instinctively what he's talking about. She frowns slightly, thinking. "Yes…" she says, slowly – her eyes not moving from his. "…but that part of my life has been over for _three years_ now. People are moving on…and I'm ready to start a new life now, too." Rick's stomach twists in anticipation, but he can't find his voice to say anything. June bites down on her lip as she admits: "I want to give _us_ a chance. A real chance. And I know –" she adds quickly, her words taking on a quality of a pitch often rehearsed. " – that we've got a lot against us. But to me – in my head – you're not _part_ of all the Enchantress stuff. You're part of a life separate from all that and –"

" –June-" Rick interjects – half amused - because she doesn't realise that she doesn't have to sell this to him or persuade him of anything. She carries on – her voice becoming more earnest.

"- At some point, this is all going to be over. It is. And…I hope you'll still be around, and that you'll want to…stay with me."

Rick clears his throat, which has suddenly grown tight at the vulnerability and uncertainty in her voice. Her mouth is so close to his he can feel her breath on his face. "June, I ain't going anywhere," he mutters – about the most reassuring thing he can think of saying. "You've got to know that by now."

"I wasn't sure –" she confesses, biting down on her lip. Rick almost laughs. Despite everything, they hadn't gotten any better at reading one another. Instead he tightens his arms around her waist, hugging her closer into his body. June loops her arms more securely around his neck.

The whole thing about…'when everything is over' to him feels pointless. By his book, they're already together– and whether the Enchantress stuff goes away or not doesn't make a difference. There's clearly a distinction to June, however, and Rick reminds himself that he's not the one with an ancient witch living in their body. He guesses it _would_ be kind of nice not to have to hide their relationship, or use it as a twisted front in situations like these.

They dance for a while longer before June says that she needs some fresh air. Rick wouldn't have paid the request much thought if he hadn't already been on the look-out ever since the Enchantress intruded on his dream. He doesn't trust her, and he's determined not to let her get to June. He notices the way she is using her hand to shield her eyes from the light, as if she's got a bad headache.

"What's wrong?" he asks her, following her out of the marque onto the lawn.

"I'm fine –" June protests, attempting to stride ahead of him, but Rick's longer legs eat up the distance between them.

"Nah – c'mon, June, don't do that –" he says, as they reach the shade of a massive oak tree. June rests her hand against the trunk for balance, slightly bent over as if she's about to be sick. "What –"

But June abruptly gives out an agonised gasp, squeezing her eyes tight shut as if her brain is haemorrhaging. " _Rick_ –" she gasps, clutching desperately at the cuff of his suit.

His face hardens. Despite the panic that constricts his chest, Rick manages to think clearly. They are only meters away from hundreds of people. If June suddenly has some kind of outburst of magic, she'd cause a massive accident. Not to mention that if she changed into the Enchantress, it would be hell for A.R.G.U.S to cover up.

June lets out another pained groan, and Rick makes a snap decision, quickly grabbing her by the arm. He attempts to lead her out to the car, but it quickly becomes apparent that June is in too much pain to move, yet alone stand… _what the hell was happening to her_? He takes his phone out of his suit pocket – about to dial Waller – but June grabs his hand weakly.

" _NO_ –" she says, her face so white it's a miracle she's still standing upright. "You can't –"

"June, I need back-up," Rick snarls back, stress turning his voice harsh. She looks like she's about to collapse.

" _You_ know what's at stake here," she shoots back desperately, still gripping his sleeve tightly. "She _can't_ know –"

But Rick turns his back on June, typing the number into his phone anyway. It's a stupid thing to do. When he glances over his shoulder at her, it's to see that June has managed to stagger away from him to the house, pushing open a small side door.

" _Damn it -_!" Rick swears, sprinting across the grass after her. This wasn't remotely funny, and her stubbornness wasn't cute. It was going to get her killed. " _JUNE?_!" he yells, barrelling into the house. He's in a narrow, dark corridor – leading to some kind of small kitchen for staff which is blessedly empty. She hasn't managed to make it far – he finds her slumped in the toilets two doors down, unconscious.

" _Shit_ ," Rick mutters, pocketing his gun – feeling guilty he ever got it out in the first place. He collapses on his knees by June's side and feels for her pulse, gritting his teeth angrily as he does so. He's done this too many times before, and each time, it gets a little harder.

"This is Flag," he reports, quickly phoning A.R.G.U.S's private number. He notices that the side of June's head is bleeding from her fall, and that his hands are shaking. "I'm at Gaskell House. Forty Klicks north of base. I have a critical situation with Dr Moone. She needs to be contained A.S.A.P – be advised that we are in a civilian area with a large amount of people nearby, over."

The moment Rick makes the call, he feels bad. He knows that, if the roles had been reversed, June wouldn't have done this to him. But that was why he was a soldier and a leader – he did the things that kept people safe, even if they didn't necessarily like it. Quite frankly, right now, he doesn't care about June and Waller's schemes – he just wants to make sure that June, and all the other people at this wedding, made it to the end of the day alive.

Rick tilts June's head to the side, trying to get a better look at the blood already drying on her temple. He can't tell if the floor knocked her out or if she was already out cold before she hit the ground.

" _Shit_ ," Rick swears again, feeling a flare of panic in his gut. A.R.G.U.S had reassured them both that June was stable. That this kind of thing wouldn't happen unless June allowed the Enchantress control…He thinks about June's insistence that the witch was good…that she was helping them. Was June's sympathy making her weak? The thought makes his heart twist. He can't stand the thought that everything that's good about her might be the thing that destroys her.

* * *

 **A/N** Okay, so I'm a lot happier with _this_ chapter.

Thank you to all my readers for your continual support and reviews. It stuns me that I have now been writing this fic for over two months now, and that you have all been reading it for over two months. I am really grateful for all your support and comments.

To the **Guest** reviewer who asked if Rick still goes to work with June, he does occasionally. I see his surveillance job as a casual thing - coupled with his Task Force duties. He's not with her 24/7, but he keeps an eye on her.

Please remember to **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	23. Chapter 23

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 23**

* * *

 _ **June**_

Somehow, even in a state of unconsciousness, she is aware of a pain that threatens to split her skull. It transcends everything – agonisingly sharp. June's vision slices and snaps. Memories flash past with colours so vibrant, she can barely focus on what she's seeing. Everything takes on a distorted, blurry quality as one colour bleeds into the next.

The first thing June is aware of is the fire.

The glare from the light is so strong that at first she cannot make out its source, believing that the flames are everywhere. Hellish. Then her focus sharpens and she can see hundreds of lit torches hanging in brackets on the pillars about her. There's the fresh feeling of being in the open air – the dark night sky wheels above her head – silent and aloof of the harsh reality on the ground below.

Dzmor is lying on a sacrificial table, raised high on a platform.

The realisation makes June's heart jolt. Because they had been so _sure_ that it couldn't have been her. This wasn't the end of her story yet. Not according to the cave drawings, at least.

There are no restraints on her wrists or ankles – nothing to hold her in place. Four soldiers are placed strategically at each corner, their spears held aloft. But to June it is an empty threat – she can see that the woman isn't going to try to escape. As always, there are hundreds of on-lookers, despite the lateness of the hour. Ever since she saved the city, the fate of Dzmor has always been inextricably tied up with the fate of the people. To them, she was a God. They had held her on the highest of pinnacles. But that pinnacle is also liable to shatter at any moment…they are in awe of her power, but they fear it as well. It is the nature of humans.

June remembers her last memory in the chamber – the uneasiness and fear on their faces as they had watched her burn a man alive. It had been worse than murder – flippant and uncaring – but surely that could not be sacrificing her for it?

The five priests stand by in long, white robes. Black oil smears their hands and faces and each grip a crude looking knife made of flint. June's stomach turns just looking at them; the knives are by no means sharp enough for a clean incision. Just behind the priests stands the emperor - Dzmor's most recent husband. Half-concealed by shadows, it is impossible to tell what he is thinking – though the heavy black kohl that rings his lash-line make his eye sockets seem like black holes of nothingness.

A drum marks out the space of a heartbeat as the priests move forward. Four of them grip Dzmor's arms and legs and hold her firmly in place. Bile rises in June's throat. She cannot believe what she is seeing – it's all so wrong, so backwards. The Enchantress should be able to fight them off. Kill them all. For one, wild second, June wonders if she is looking at some kind of alternate reality. A different timeline in history.

 _This isn't happening,_ she thinks, as the fifth priest moves to stand over the Enchantress's abdomen. The most powerful meta-human in the world – about to be killed by a civilization only a little more developed than cave-men.

June keeps on looking at the witch, searching her face for some sign of resistance. But to her surprise, the witch's eyes are fierce – even determined; she visibly braces herself for the impending pain – her chest heaving with shallow, quick breaths. June realises that it's not a case of being unable to fight back – it's that she can, and is going to let it happen anyway.

 _No_ …

The thought is only dim, but June's conviction grows stronger with each passing second. This woman had saved an entire city – even though their hatred had left her starving in a cell. They had worshipped her. Placed her as the highest of beings. It had been _their_ gifts and _their_ gratitude that had corrupted her. And then they had turned on her.

The knife is plunged down into Dzmor's diaphragm with a sickening amount of force – as if the priest does not understand that the body itself is still human and fragile.

June comes-to the pain in her head is so bad.

As if she, too, is experiencing the sacrifice, her back arches off of the bed she finds herself on. She has about five seconds to register a white, clinical room and the taste of bile in her mouth before the memory slices back through her mind with overwhelming power.

The priest wrenches the knife upwards with a jerk. Dzmor's scream is loud and immediate and the people wince and duck as if fearing some kind of divine retribution is about to sweep down from the heavens. The force of her screech pumps more blood out of the hole in Dzmor's stomach. It runs down her body onto the stone slab. June's stomach heaves –

She's in the white room again, an incessant beeping noise coming from all around her. There's a rushing sound in her ears – black spots eating holes in her vision – _What's happening?_ -

A hand is plunged into Dzmor's chest and a choked sound escapes from her lips as her heart is withdrawn, still live and beating and held aloft for the people to see. Only – it isn't like any human heart June has seen before. It is black as midnight, with green threads of light pulsating through the muscle as if the organ is a separate, living entity of the body.

June knows the logistics of a human sacrifices from Rob, so she is surprised that, instead of placing the heart in the bowl set aside, the priest instead turns and hands it to the emperor. Dzmor lies, feeble and broken on the altar – the last gasps of breath leaving her body as she looks up at her husband. There is some kind of twisted love and hope in her eyes as she watches her life blood drip from between his fingers.

"You see?..." she whispers, her voice scratchy. She'd been clasping the bloody knife wound that rents her stomach open in a futile bid to stop the bleeding, but now she reaches for him. "Now there is no reason for them to be afraid."

The man looks down at the heart, his mouth working silently for a moment. "…this is a gift beyond my wildest dreams."

Dzmor's smile is strained - even though she should be long since dead. June notices that black tendrils are beginning to cocoon her abdomen in a kind of bandage. The Enchantress pays the magic no mind. Her fingers – slick with the thick viscosity of her own blood – fold his over the heart. "Take it," she insists – though desperation tinges her words. She is almost begging. "…It's the only way."

June's eyes snap open finally.

After the black and red – the night and the fire and the blood – the bright whiteness feels alien. Like she's landed in a tacky sci-fi film somewhere in the future. Which, she reminds herself, isn't half wrong. Between the memory and now lie thousands and thousands of years.

Her heart is still beating fast – but less erratically. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach is gone and the pounding pain in her head has vanished. The memory feels less immediate and threatening and becomes what it should be – a past impression stored in her mind for her to recall whenever she wishes.

June twists her head, trying to figure out where she is.

She would have been forgiven for thinking she was in a hospital: lying in a white bed, with monitors on the table next to her and wires attached to her chest. Her clothes are gone, and she is wearing only a pale blue gown. But there's also the fact that all this is all enclosed by what looks like a very large upside-down glass.

June blinks – then blinks again. She hadn't noticed before, because the cylinder is some kind of reinforced, see-through plastic. It feels like being trapped in a gigantic hamster cage. Then June sees the A.R.G.U.S logo emblazed on an outside wall and understanding rushes through her.

She shoves the covers away and tries to get out of bed – accidentally ripping the tape holding the monitors to her chest off of her as she does so. June hisses, but strides forwards, placing her hands against the wall.

Then she bangs her fists against it experimentally. The sound is completely swallowed up by the plastic.

" _No_ …" June whispers to herself - all thoughts of Dzmor and the sacrifice (although was it really a sacrifice when nobody had died?) instantly slipping from her mind as she pounds her fists against the wall harder. " _Hello? HELLO?!"_

"I can hear you."

June whips around to see Amanda Waller standing on the other side of cage – her bright pink suit the only source of colour among all the white. Far from being reassured, June's heart begins to beat faster. She didn't like coming into A.R.G.U.S unless it was on her own terms – unless she knew exactly what was going on. Now she has no idea why she's here or what is happening.

She tries to rack her brains, thinking. She remembers the pain in her head at the wedding. Rick trying to convince her to come in….June's blood runs cold.

That must be it. Despite…everything…he must've done it. He'd made the call.

How much had Rick told Waller? June tries to reassure herself that Rick wouldn't sell her out – he would never do that to her. But it's only a half-hearted attempt. Rick didn't trust Dzmor, and if he thought it was in June's 'best interests'…he would most definitely tell Waller about the directions to go to the tomb – and get there before A.R.G.U.S did. If he had…he had ruined everything.

"What happened?" Waller asks, calmly – interrupting June's thought process.

Her mind races, trying to figure out how much the older woman knows. How much June can afford to tell her. "I…I don't know."

"You don't know," Waller echoes, flatly.

"I just got a pain in my head. It came out of nowhere." Saying that, June cannot believe that A.R.G.U.S are so jittery as to put her in a fish tank when she complains of a migraine. (But deep down she knows: it wasn't a headache.) "Where's Rick?" June adds – so impulsively the question has slipped from her lips before she can fully think it over.

" _Colonel Flag_ ," Waller enunciates, deliberately – ignoring June as she begins to pace around her cage leisurely – "told me some very interesting things…He seems to think you're growing…sympathetic towards the Enchantress. He thinks you're inviting her in…" Waller's hooded gaze meets June's – her voice taking on an edge. "You gave me the impression this was a one way street, Dr Moone – accessed from _your_ side: you don't say the magic words, she can't get out."

June knows that it is Rick's job to inform on her. If he didn't pass over information, Waller would become suspicious. But she is wholly unprepared for the pain in her heart as she hears those words. The sense of betrayal. They were supposed to be a _team_. They were in this together...but the lines had been drawn. Waller was on one side and June was on the other – Rick balanced on a knife edge between them. It wasn't _the_ secret – but it was implicating information all the same.

"But you knew the risk: you knew she could act through me," June attempts to argue, trying to think straight. "– the power cut –"

"But I didn't know that you were encouraging her," Waller cuts in, sharply. "You came to me and you told me that you were afraid of the potential this thing had to kill. You said you were worried you would harm the people around you….And here you are: not even two months in." She lets the unspoken, final words hang in the air…that June was weak.

June squares her shoulders, attempting to stand straighter and face up to Waller – despite the fact they are separated by a thick, see-through wall. "The Archaeological Institute are still working with A.R.G.U.S to find a way to control the Enchantress…our agendas are still essentially the same."

"Essentially?"

"We're not the ones who want to turn a six-thousand year old witch into government property."

There's a pause barely longer than a heartbeat, but then the corner of Waller's mouth lifts. "Touché"

As abruptly as the fight flared up in her, June feels abruptly feeble – without even the strength to hate herself for it. She has no idea, really, where she is or how she got here. She doesn't even know what day it is. She wraps her arms around herself – wishing hard that none of it had happened…that she and Rick had gone to the wedding and danced and gone home and been happy. She wished he hadn't had to make the decision he had, and she hates herself for putting him in that kind of situation in the first place. She just wants to be home.

June finds herself fighting back tears as she asks, her voice wavering: "when can I get out of here?"

"In a few hours," Waller replies, indifferent to her anxiety. A white door opens, admitting in five people dressed in a variation of white lab coats and navy A.R.G.U.S suits. "We need to run some more tests."

* * *

Jarringly, it is daylight outside by the time June is discharged, the sun peeking out through torn and ragged clouds. Though she hasn't seen a hair of him, June is carrying an over-night bag Rick had apparently brought for her. It now holds her green dress and jewellery, along with a few other essential items such as a hairbrush and pajamas. She is informed that the plastic containment cell had been built specifically for her in the lower levels of the army base – as if that was supposed to make her feel better.

Exhausted and drained, June walks outdoors. The moment she catches sight of Rick's car, she sprints across the parking lot.

"Are you okay!?" he asks instantly, the moment June opens the door – at the same time as she rushes out: " _Did you tell her?"_

"Tell her what?" he stops - clearly thrown.

"About the tomb!?"

" _What_? – no," Rick dismisses – impatient - already reaching for June to ascertain that she's alright. His hands cup her face tightly.

"Oh, thank God," June gasps – launching forwards and kissing him hard.

Rick doesn't seem to be on the same page as her, however. "You've no idea how worried I was about you," he growls against her lips, pulling away just enough to speak. His hands knot securely in June's hair, and his touch is everything she needs to feel safe again. "Those assholes wouldn't let me see you –"

"I'm okay," she reassures him. "But I had another memory -"

" – what did they do to you?" he demands – cutting over her. If he has heard her statement, he's ignored it. Instead of being irritated, however, June has to smile at the intensity of his concern.

"They ran some tests again –" Rick makes an angry sound in the back of his throat – because they both know by now exactly how the other feels about June being put underneath a microscope. " -But I'm okay," she continues, reassuringly, brushing her nose against his. "I'm fine." She takes a deep, calming breath – feeling the essential truth of that statement. She _was_ fine, and it had been a horrible situation for them both all round, but they were okay. They were together now.

Rick's brow furrows as other fields of information now begin to process and come together in his mind. Now that he's sure that she is alright, his jaw clenches as he thinks back to the wedding. "A memory? Why then? In the middle of everythin'?"

June bites on her lip. She hadn't wanted to tell Rick the first time it had happened in their bathroom because she hadn't wanted to scare him – but she figures she's already done that, and he won't appreciate being lied to again. "I don't know," she admits, exhaling as she leans back into her seat and rubs at her forehead. Though she knows she needs to explain this – and do a good job of explaining it – all she can think about is her bed at home and sleep. And food. And then maybe Rick. "I normally access these kind of things. This was like…forced onto me. Like she was showingme something."

Rick's face tightens in the exact way June knew it would. "She broke your control," he mutters – not a question. And then he raises one eyebrow as he asks, sternly: "Does that mean she can take over withou' you letting her?" His expression is his best 'don't-bullshit-me' face, but June tries to, anyway.

"She wouldn't –" she rejects automatically, but then stops. Even she couldn't be that naïve. Because if you'd been trapped in someone else's body…with no autonomy and no control, the fact of the matter was…you _would_.

The real answer is written plain as day across June's face and Rick shakes his head in frustration, turning to look out of the window. "I told you this would happen. I _told_ you she'd use you like this. You wouldn't listen to me."

It's the bitter sound of defeat in his tone that prevents June from snapping back angrily. Rick was always the one who convinced _her_ to carry on fighting…but right now he sounds resigned to the inevitable - beat.

"Hey –" she murmurs, drawing his jaw round to look at her gently with the tips of her fingers. "The dig is in six days now. I'm still going to find –" she almost says 'the heart', but doesn't want to freak him out. That's an explanation for another day. "- whatever's in that tomb that can control her. This will all be over soon."

He rubs a hand down his face. June notices that he looks exhausted – the permanent bags under his eyes more pronounced than ever – and feels a stab of guilt. She feels bad that he worries about her so much. "…alrigh'…" he mutters, eventually. But his steely eyes meet hers so piercingly, June can tell he's wordlessly holding her to that promise.

"Okay," she murmurs, looking away before he does.

Rick twists the keys in the ignition. "I'm guessing you need food then, right?"

"Um, _yes_."

"Where'd you wanna go?"

"Just home."

"Home?" He smirks, looking at her. She knows what he's thinking – how right it sounds. _Their_ home.

"Yeah," June smiles.

On the drive back to the house, June tells him what had happened to her over the past twenty four hours. "You know what?" Rick snaps angrily, when she's finished. "- the next time they put you in a fish bowl, or whatever – I'm goin' in there. I swear to God." He hasn't been able to give it a rest and June – her elbow propped up against the car window – uses a hand to cover her mouth so he can't see her smirk.

"Oh really?" she asks.

"Yeah. When the going gets tough –"

" – the tough get going?" He doesn't realise she's teasing him, and he looks at her fiercely.

"Your man steps up. They _defend_ you."

"Okay, Rick, as much as I appreciate the whole Tarzan – Jane thing, its okay," June says, dryly. "Seriously. I'm used to this."

"But you _shouldn't_ be used to it. It's so messed up that…that I don't know where you are or what they're doing to you for twenty-four hours!"

"Because they don't know that they need to contact you," June points out, practically – but she understands where he's coming from. It _is_ messed up. "That's kind of the whole point of _us_ being a big secret."

"Yeah, well, I don' like it," he snaps, pulling into the driveway. He kills the engine with an impatient jerk, but before they can get out of the car Rick grabs June's hand, rubbing her skin with his thumb – noticeably calmer. "I'm sorry,"- his voice suddenly gruff and pitched low - his amber eyes fixed on her with intense sincerity. "I know you didn't want me to make that call. I had to."

June stares out the windscreen for a moment as Rick watches her intently. The truth of it was still that she _hadn't_ wanted to go in – it had risked so much. Waller could have realised that June was withholding information – her stomach plunges at the mere thought. But she looks at Rick, and she knows that the decision had come from a place of love. "I know," she smiles softly, squeezing his hand back. "I know. It's okay."

He still looks doubtful at the reassurance, but releases her none-the-less. "Alrigh' – let's get you inside."

She would have expected it, but Rick is still especially cautious round her all evening. Or maybe cautious isn't the right word - more like watchful. There's a strange duality to his gaze, in part because she herself is increasingly becoming two different people. There's _her_ \- June - that he watches with concern, as a partner, and then there is Dzmor, who he watches as a trained soldier - looking sharply for any potential threat. Much as being back in their house immediately makes things feel 'normal' once more, neither of them can afford to wholly write off the events of the wedding. Dzmor was getting stronger, and Rick now knew that June didn't have complete control of her.

As June strips the covers from the bed that night, she wonders as she climbs in whether the Enchantress would ever use this new-found power for anything more than communication. Would she try to take control? It seemed to June that there was an understanding of sorts between them...both of them were in a body being used and abused by A.R.G.U.S. It wouldn't make sense for Dzmor to turn against her.

She is itching to figure out how to access the Enchantress herself, without letting her fully take over. If June can just _talk_ to her herself, instead of leaving it to the likes of Waller, maybe she would be able to understand things better...

Rick slides into bed behind her, breaking June's train of thought. His arms slide down her bare shoulders to her elbows, before he wraps them round her waist.

"What are you thinking?" he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss to the spot on her neck below her ear. June smiles, enjoying the comfortable, warm feeling of his body against hers.

"Nothing."

"Yeah right," he mutters, his voice slightly husky with tiredness as she turns in his arms to face him. "I can see those wheels turning."

His hair is damp, and several shades darker from his shower. It's grown out from the short, closely cropped look she remembers from when they first met. She brushes the long strands out of his eyes.

"What are you thinking?" he murmurs, taking in the preoccupied expression on June's face.

"...When you look at me, what do you see?...her or me?"

"June..." Rick sighs - but she stares at him expectantly, in a way that indicates that she's not going to change the subject. He frowns slightly, his eyes not moving from hers.

"I want to know," she insists, quietly.

He trails his fingertips across her cheek, tracing the constellation of freckles there, as if testing the very physicality of her body. She wonders if he ever looks at her and sees the Enchantress's grimy, dirty skin. Looks into her green eyes expecting to see lamp-like, dark ones staring back at him...but his reply defies her expectations. "I always see you."

"Honestly?"

"Yeah," he says, his voice almost rough with it's forcefulness. Despite her insecurities, she finds herself believing him - even though she knows that realistically he must be lying.

June inhales the familiar scent of Rick's body wash, feeling abruptly and suddenly aroused. She's not sure if it's a product of the uncertainty and fear of the past day - the strain it had put on their new-found relationship - but she is abruptly craving intimacy beyond just simply lying next to Rick. She leans over him, pressing her lips to his.

Rick's hands come up to hold her hips. His touch is light - lazy; he lets her take the lead instead of guiding her. It's easy for June to feel safe with him. In a weird way, because they have been to the darkest of places together, they also have nothing to hide. Nothing to fear from one another. She enjoys the way she can thread her hands through his longer hair, kissing him more deeply - her ponytail falling awkwardly over the top of her head.

Rick subtly urges her closer until their hips are flush together. His grip tightens as her movements become fiercer and more sure - moving them purposefully towards her intended destination. If he's taken aback by her insistence, he doesn't say anything - grunting slightly as June nips at his lower lip in an effort to elicit a response from him.

He rolls her suddenly underneath him, taking his sweet time trailing his hand up her leg teasingly.

" _Rick_ ," June protests.

He's always been the tease in their physical relationship - not her. As he keeps reminding her, she's too eager for sex - too quick - before it's all suddenly over. She's more spontaneous than he is. He doesn't complain, she thinks, with a wry smile, when she surprises him with a kiss in an elevator or a quickie in the kitchen. But it is in Rick's nature to be methodical and thorough - he's an attentive lover almost to a fault, seeming to derive great amusement in making June squirm.

"Rick -" she says again against his lips, as his palm massages the inside of her thigh without going any higher.

He hums slightly by way of response, a gleam in his eyes as June tangles her legs in with his, attempting to trap him. Rick just continues to nip and suck at her neck until June's eyes roll into the back of her head and she can't find it in herself to protest any further.

Quiet mewls and sighs escape her throat when he finally pushes into her. Though she tries to fight him on it, Rick sets a slow, torturous rhythm. It's hilarious that he seems to think _she_ always gets her way, when he's somehow the one that ends up calling all the shots when they're in bed together, despite the fact that she is nearly always the initiator. She should probably say something later but -

Rick shifts position slightly and June sighs, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and drawing him closer to her. She bites down on her lower lip as he brings her closer and closer to orgasm, trying to make herself keep her eyes open despite the fact her entire vision is going blurry in a way that has nothing to do with her less-than-perfect eye sight.

Rick is staring down at her, their faces close enough that his nose nudges hers before he kisses her - their panted breathes mingling. June's nails dig into his shoulders - as if she is physically trying to hold on to him - to them. No matter what happened - no matter what Waller or A.R.G.U.S threw at them - June silently promises herself that no one will separate her from Rick again against her will.

* * *

Two days before they are due to set off for the dig, June's office is so crammed full with boxes and equipment that she and Melissa can hardly move. For some reason, her floor-space has become the dumping-ground for resources and June picks her way through the muddle of debris, trying to work through her itinerary, ticking items off as she goes.

"Am I the only one who's done the math, here?" Melissa asks her. She's sat at June's desk, looking at something intently on the computer – her dark, shiny hair pulled back in a high ponytail.

"Huh?" June asks, distractedly, not looking up from her list. She's rushing to get this all organised, and doesn't have time for her mentor's complaining.

Melissa looks at her, impatiently twisting the computer around so that June can see what she's looking at. "Amanda Waller. She denied our request to employ staff from the Institute because this is all 'Top Secret' or whatever – but then she's padded the numbers out with her own team. We're the only two archaeologists from this place that're going."

June looks up, forgetting about equipment-checks entirely. " _What?_ "

"Yeah – look –" Melissa taps a manicured nail against the final sentence of an email – "A.R.G.U.S are bringing _forty people_ in total. Security – researchers – a catering team. That's forty to our lonely two."

June attempts to stride over quickly but ends up tripping over a box. She swears, but ignores the pain – lunging for the computer. Her eyes go wide as she looks through the break-down of divisions.

"Please tell me your soldier-boy-toy is coming," Melissa mutters – with only a poor show of her usual bite, " -or we are royally screwed."

June's eyes fly down the list of personnel rapidly, relieved when she catches Rick's name there – not to mention the fact that the rest of his team make up half of the security detail. It's not as bad as Melissa initially thought, but it's still pretty bad.

"He's there. It's okay."

Melissa stands from the desk and carefully shuts the door to the office. "…June…how're we supposed to get at this tomb without anyone knowing?" she insists, rounding on her.

"We'll figure something out."

"Well, just so you know, that woman's not going to take her eyes off of you for a _second_ –"

" – I know, I know –"

"No. Listen to me!" Melissa demands, her voice gaining a frustrated edge. "…Let's just let her have the heart, okay? Waller wants to win, and…and me and you can't stop her! Just because the Enchantress told you –"

" – told Rick –" June, corrects, but Melissa continues as if she hasn't heard.

" – just because the Enchantress told Rick you couldn't trust A.R.G.U.S, doesn't mean we need to go putting our jobs on the line! You know what part two of this story is? Us getting our licenses revoked. Us ending up in jail, June! Because I _guarantee_ that is what will happen if we cross Amanda Waller!" The older woman stabs a finger into her hand to emphasise each point, irate.

Despite the fact that she had famously been quick to anger and cranky, Melissa had simultaneously always been the one to play things safe and by the rules. She was happiest in her lab, where everything was black and white: test results, DNA markers, soil samples. June could abruptly see why – from Melissa's end – none of this made any sense. She was asking a lot of her old mentor, who had always been more comfortable with hard facts. It was a jarring role reversal – seeing Melissa so angry and scared.

But this was about more than just their jobs now. Waller had said it herself – it was about a witch with the power of a mega-ton-nuclear bomb. It was about who – if anyone - was allowed to have access to that kind of power.

"We just need to be smart about this," June attempts, trying to sooth her. "We'll be fine."

"That's not a strategy."

"I know it's not a –"

"From the way you're talking I'm beginning to think we need a strategy." June heaves out a breath, feeling a headache coming on and Melissa throws a hand out, gesturing at her defensively. "What? You _said_ we needed to be smart!"

"I know but –"

"Then how do we do this? _Explain_ it to me how _you_ think –"

"I don't know – okay?!" June snaps – finally breaking. "I don't _know_ how we're going to do this, Melissa! I don't _know_ how we're going to pull this off. I just know that we _have_ to." She points to the over-sized print outs of the cave drawings that she's tacked up onto her wall. "That circle there? The thing we couldn't figure out? That's her _heart_ , Mel. She gave it to them because she thought they would accept her if they could control her. But _look_ –" June points at the next few pictures in the sequence. Wars. Famines. "- they just use it to _use_ her. Death. Destruction. That's how this is going to end….Come on…could you even trust _our_ government with this kind of power, yet alone _Amanda Waller_?"

Melissa chews on her lip, clearly unsure. "Superman was just as strong as the Enchantress," she points out, eventually. "And people were okay with it."

"Superman couldn't be controlled, Mel. Not like this." June looks out of her office window, thinking. The Enchantress had inhabited her body for a little over two months now. If the experience had taught her anything, it was that nobody really understood what was going on - not even June herself. In fact, _especially_ June herself. It was magic, and though A.R.G.U.S specialized in meta-humans...in their own words they had never seen anything like this before. It wasn't just a case of 'with great power comes great responsibility', it was the fact that nobody truly _understood_ that power in the first place...and June was beginning to think they never would.

She had seen a woman have her heart ripped out and survive. And that heart hadn't been human...blackened, and pulsating with a greenish light. This was something more than simply a case of mutated DNA. It was something old. Ancient. They were all messing with something they didn't truly understand.

And by the slightly scared look on Melissa's face, she was cripplingly aware of that fact, too.

* * *

 **A/N** Wow, I sat down to edit this chapter and when I looked up at the clock I'd been working on it for two hours! I get so immersed in this fic sometimes - especially if I'm writing from June's POV and trying to think about what she would be thinking. It's such a weird, complex situation and there are always about five hundred different emotions involved in every chapter.

Thank you all for all your lovely reviews and continued support. I won't grace that one Guest reviewer with a response. I know that I have readers that enjoy the Rick/June relationship just as much as I do.

Hope you are all having a lovely weekend, and that an update brightens it up a little if you're not.

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	24. Chapter 24

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 24**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

Rick raps his knuckles against Waller's office door, which stands half ajar. There's a low murmuring coming from within and, when he receives no response, he hesitantly pushes the door open.

Waller stands with her back to him, a cordless phone held to her ear.

" _Yes Mr Secretary. We have everything to under control – your office have nothing to worry about_." She pauses, glancing over her shoulder calmly to see Rick standing with her in the room – no trace of surprise in her expression. She turns to face him fully, a hand on her hip. The message is loud and clear: she has nothing to hide from him. Or, at least, there is nothing she can say that he can do anything about. " _Doctor Moone has been highly co-operative with our organisation thus far,"_ she explains over the phone – though her gaze does not leave his face. " _I am sure she will continue to be compliant. We are all aware of the potential consequences here, sir_." Waller listens briefly. "… _you won't be disappointed,_ " she promises, her voice holding an unmistakeable trace of smugness.

Rick keeps his face impassive, forcing himself not to rise to her bait.

"We're good to go when you are ready, ma'am," he informs her, determined to keep things professional. He's already dressed in full gear and Waller carefully hangs up the phone, placing it back in its cradle.

"Good," she says. Dressed in a fuchsia pink shirt and grey trousers, the last thing Amanda Waller looks about to do is travel out to a remote part of the jungle in the middle of Mexico. But if Rick's learnt anything over the past few months, it's to not judge Amanda Waller by the fact that she is a woman; by her short stature, or her position as CEO. You judge her by the fact that she's Amanda Waller – and you best not God-damn forget it. "Colonel, I want to make one thing clear and I want to make it clear right now," she announces coolly, walking around her desk and collecting up her small, black leather handbag. "Doctor Rodriguez and Doctor Moone are civilians, but your men are soldiers. If you do not follow my orders out there, it will be treated as mutiny."

"Yes ma'am."

Waller raises a single eyebrow, pausing. "That's it?"

He shrugs, impatient. It's like she expects him to come right out and say that he's going to stab her in the back – but Rick's not stupid enough to double cross her. The real challenge is persuading June not to do anything crazy. "You want a dissertation or somethin'? My guys are well trained. They're professionals." Her gaze lingers on him for a fraction of a second too long, as if waiting for a 'but'. He tags on - crabby that his integrity is questioned, despite the fact that she has good reason to be cautious: "I hear you. Crystal clear."

"And if Doctor Moone makes an attempt to mess up my program, we will not be forgiving."

"She won' do that."

Waller doesn't blink. "June has been very vocal with her disagreement of certain…aspects of what it is we are doing here."

"So take it up with _her_."

A smile tugs at the older woman's lips, and she slings the handbag comfortably over one shoulder. "Just so you know," she warns, amused.

Rick escorts Waller out of the building and onto the helipad in the middle of a parched field by the barracks. Lined up in a row are four, big choppers. The army call this particular model the 'Wildcat' and they're primarily for transport – all of them already loaded up with crates of supplies. Men and women in the navy A.R.G.U.S jackets run across to the asphalt, hastily making last-minute preparations.

Summer has hit with a vengeance and the heat is sweltering. Rick pulls his cap lower down to shade his eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight. His men are off to one-side, double-checking their gear - though all of them know that the guns are just for show. For them, this'll be like a holiday; cake-walk, compared to arresting meta-humans. They know it as well – smoking and joking around. Rick's face tightens as Grant jokingly wrestles Tyler into a headlock.

" _Hey –_ " he snaps, striding over. "Cut it out!"

"C'mon, Rick, we're just messing around –" Tyler protests, straightening back upright – red and sweaty-faced, his blonde hair stuck on end.

"I've just spent the mornin' tryin' to convince Waller that you guys are professionals. Fuckin' act like it."

Rooster rolls his eyes, shoving a rifle into Rick's chest. He automatically reaches up to grasp it. "What's got your panties in a bunch?" Rooster asks, his usual bandana knotted around his ginger hair. A pair of dark aviators shield his eyes from the sun-glare.

Rick makes a dismissive sound, glancing across the tarmac at Waller, who is being helped into the nearest chopper. "Doesn't matter."

"Stuck between a rock and a hard place, huh?"

Rick looks at him, confused. "Huh?"

"Rock –" Rooster points at Waller. " – hard place –" he points at June, who is standing a little way off with that other woman she works with; both of them noticeable for being the only people apart from Waller not in some kind of uniform. The pair of them seem to be arguing with someone from A.R.G.U.S over the loading of one of the boxes.

Rick grimaces – it appears that neither Melissa nor June got the memo about who was supposed to be in charge on this operation. He almost pities the guy they're yelling at. "Yeah," he mutters – amused despite himself by Rooster's accurately blunt summation. "Something like that."

The rotors on the top of the choppers begin to spin slowly – the engines whirring into life. Rick and his team jog quickly across the helipad to the nearest chopper, climbing on board. A row of eight seats line either wall - Waller, June and Melissa already strapped in and ready to go.

"Hey," Rooster smirks at Melissa, settling himself in next to the handsome latino woman.

She merely wrinkles her nose at him as if she's smelt something bad. "Can you not sweat on me?" she grumbles, looking less-than-enthused by the soldiers crowding onto the chopper.

Rick sits himself down next to Grant and directly opposite June.

"You ready for this?" he asks his second-in-command, pulling his hat more firmly down onto his head as the helicopter begins to take off – the engine roaring above them.

"Yeah. Easiest mission ever, right?" Grant smirks back at him. A tunnel of wind gushes through the chamber as the delivery ramp begins to lift back up and aircraft pulls higher and higher into the air.

"Right," Rick mutters, using the roar of wind to look covertly across at June. Her hair is being whipped about her face, but she catches his eye significantly. He hates that, for the next two weeks, he and June will be under a microscope. They won't be sharing a living space anymore, and having any length of conversation with her beyond the bounds of his job will just draw Waller's attention. He can think of a thousand things to say to June as he looks at her. He wants to tell her not to do something she'll regret…not to trust that witch…not to trust Waller. He wants to tell her that he's going to miss not being around her for two weeks – wants to tease her by telling her that she looks like a sexy, female version of Indiana Jones in her khaki pants and white shirt.

The last thought makes the corner of Rick's mouth lift as he smirks to himself, and June's lips automatically tug into a smile at the secretive look on his face. She catches herself - looking away quickly in an attempt to compose herself - before glancing back at him – a full blown grin on her face. He can tell by the way she's biting her lip that she's dying to make some kind of mocking comment at his expense. Probably something about him not being able to take his eyes off her. She visibly swallows the impulse, however, looking back down at her hands, which she knots together in her lap.

Rick bites the inside of his cheek.

He wants to tell June that no matter what happens on this dig, he's with her win or lose.

He's wants to tell her that she is beautiful and strong and too curious and he doesn't want to see her get hurt.

He wants to tell her that he's a better man since she came into his life.

He wants to tell her he thinks he might be falling in love with her – and he's only just beginning to realise it.

June must sense the change in his demeanour because she lifts her gaze once more. She sees something in the intensity with which he looks at her – a deep intuition telling her what he's trying to communicate without words. The skin around her eyes softens, and _damn_ he really wishes he could say something right now. That they weren't in a chopper surrounded by people.

The fleet of aircraft transports them hundreds of miles. Through the small windows behind their heads, Rick and the others watch as civilization ends and the jungle begins to unfurl out before them – bright and green and undulated by jagged hills. There's nothing down there but trees.

" _We're gonna need an eye-ball confirmation of the target._ " The pilot's voice requests through the comm – distorted by the choppy thumping of the rotors about their head.

June quickly unstraps herself from her seat and Rick and Waller automatically both do the same – moving up to the front of the aircraft with her. The cockpit is cramped, but the entirety of the nose of the chopper is glass, meaning that they can see for miles.

The pilot glances up at June. "Down there – right?" he asks her, pointing to a large clearing on top of a hill below them.

Rick watches as June braces her hands against the glass, leaning over to get a better look. As if she needs to. "Mmhhmm," she nods, tucking her hair behind her ear as she straightens.

The pilot looks at her, and Rick supresses a smirk. Mumbled confirmations didn't register in the army – only absolute certainty. " _What_?" he yells over the noise, non-plussed.

"Um – yes. That's it," June blushes. "That's where the temple is."

"Down there?" Waller double-checks, coolly.

June visibly composes herself, looking at the other woman. "Yeah," she says, her voice stronger now, her chin raised slightly.

"Alright then - take us down, son," Waller instructs.

The clearing is a ragged stretch of ground more dirt than grass, sloping gently up to the partially excavated upper levels of the temple. The crumbling rock is covered in vines and creepers and Rick is surprised at how easily it could have been overlooked. When June had told him about it, he had imagined a massive palace – but instead it looks as if most of it has sunk underground.

"This is it?" Grant asks – looking equally sceptical as he jumps down from the chopper.

"Yeah."

"Should'a brought a coupla' golf clubs. Played a few holes," the younger man jokes, glancing at him. "What's your handicap down to again?"

"Three."

"Nice."

Rick shrugs. "…I try."

They help unload cargo from the aircraft. Rick takes a crate full of supplies from June.

"You alright?" he asks her, as people fan out across the open space – pitching large tents and – in the case of two men – setting up a satellite dish at the corner of the clearing. June has pulled her hair back into a haphazard ponytail – shorter strands already sticking to her forehead from the humidity.

"Yeah," she nods, glancing warily up at the temple. "It feels weird being back here again…but I'm okay. I think."

She heaves a box labelled with the Archaeological Institute's logo into her arms and leads Rick across the open space to a tent that has been appointed as a researchers work station - a space Melissa and June will have to share with ten other A.R.G.U.S scientists. Work benches are already set up and a ground sheet unfurled. June makes a big show of sighing and throwing multiple glares as she strides through the tent. Rick smirks as he follows her – amused at the sight of her throwing her toys out of her pram.

"It's a bit much, isn't it?" she grumbles, looking at one of the A.R.G.U.S workers, who is unpacking equipment far too high-tech looking to possibly be used for analysing dirt samples. "I mean, all this just to excavate –"

" - These people ain't archaeologists, June," he cuts in, crossing his arms as he watches her unpack a tray of brushes and trowels. "They're like me. They specialize in meta-humans. They're not here for...ancient pot plants of whatever -"

" – not that you're knocking what I do for a living or anything –" June cuts in, with a raised eyebrow, not looking up from the work bench as she busily organises her things.

"Nah – I'm just sayin' that when you showed up, A.R.G.U.S came across something they'd never seen before. An' they didn't understand it. _That's_ why these people are here. So they can get intel."

"Uhuh."

Rick rests one elbow on the table next to her, dropping himself down to June's level. "Did I mention you're one of the smartest people I know?" he tags on, quickly trying to back-peddle on his mistake. His face is close enough to hers that she begins to smile just because of their proximity.

"Next time you say my job's easy," she tells him, attempting to be stern. "I'll make _you_ organise a dig in three weeks."

"Okay, I never said your job was easy –"

" – it was implied –"

"Hey –" Rick says, drawing her attention enough that she finally looks at him. "I got a lot of respect for what you do," he tells her, sincerely. And he did. Rick had seen June read entire books in a single night. Draft up summaries of essays and collate pages and pages of research. June's natural thirst for knowledge and information meant that she had approached this Enchantress thing completely differently to how he would have. Where he would have been repulsed, she was curious. Where Rick's job had taught him to be ruthless, June's had taught her compassion.

She's looking at him with that playful, flirtatious look in her eye – the type that sets off warning bells in Rick's head. It was a look he couldn't resist – a look that normally has him breaking within about two seconds. But this time he can't.

"C'mon June –" he mutters, warningly, tensing up as he abruptly realises he's let them go too far – how close they are now standing to one another. "Don' look at me like that."

"Are you going to do something about it?" she asks, lightly; full well knowing that he is unable to. He almost groans under his breath at her teasing – knowing that this is her twisted form of revenge. "Oh, that's right," June pretends to remember, musing. "You can't."

"You're gonna be the death of me," he tells her, straightening back upright and shaking his head. His fists clenched tightly at his sides, however, belies the easy ruefulness to his tone. June just grins, going back to her work.

"Yeah, yeah - I'll see you later," she winks after him, as Rick walks fast out of the tent.

Two weeks won't be over fast enough.

* * *

To Rick's surprise, no preparations are made to go into the temple that day. The guy's really are beginning to think it's all just going to be a glorified holiday…but the idle jokes stop as they begin to realise that Rick still hasn't relaxed as the day wears on. By the way Rooster is watching him and from the troubled look on Grant's face, it is clear that his team are starting to think that maybe they haven't been told the whole story about this mission. They automatically turn watchful – their gazes mistrustfully flickering across the camp to Amanda Waller.

Rick doesn't have the heart to tell him that, for once, it isn't Waller they have to worry about.

His mind keeps going over everything he knows about the Enchantress and everything he has seen. He is convinced that she is using June as a means to an end, but June stubbornly refuses to see things that way – instead operating under the crazy belief that she is working _with_ the witch. Rick doesn't know what June's been shown to make her think that, but the fact that the Enchantress was going out of her way to break June's control and force those memories on her was concerning enough…without even factoring in that she was breaking her control in the first place.

He has a bad feeling about the whole thing – and his gut is usually right. He's itching to just tell Waller, thereby preventing Dzmor from getting at whatever's in that stupid tomb. But at the same time, he doesn't want to betray June. And he doesn't want June to get hurt.

He has no idea what to do.

Dusk is settling in at a rapid place; night close on its heels. The jungle chatters with dull sound and movement around them – the trees towering and intimidating. The mosquitos come out as lamps around the camp are turned on and the smell of cooking food permeates the air. The bugs congregate in choice areas in a thick swarm.

Rick helps himself to some stew before moving to sit by Grant. He is hyper aware of everything everyone is doing – every clatter of a spoon against a bowl; every shift of weight. His eyes narrow as he notices June and Melissa with their heads bent close together on the other side of the campfire.

"Grant?" he mutters, as the fire snaps and crackles.

"Yep?"

"Do me a favour? Don't take your eyes off of June for a second."

The younger man glances up at the two women, his eyebrows raising slightly, before he returns to poking around in his bowl of stew – expertly nonchalant. "Got it."

Rick makes a slight grunt of acknowledgement, knowing that Grant will take the request seriously.

When June gets up to put her empty bowl in the plastic bucket Rick smoothly stands and follows her.

"You gonna turn in for the night?" he asks, folding his arms and stopping a little behind her.

Rick had always told June that she was a terrible liar, and the fact that she jumps about a foot into the air at the sound of his voice just confirms it. Guilt seeps from every pore in her body as she turns to look at him.

"Um – yes, I'm just about to –" she points towards her tent, backing away.

Rick nods. "Right." June somehow misses the heavy sarcasm in his voice.

"I just – you know - I think I need an early night. Get some sleep."

Rick scratches at his chin, trying to keep his face impassive despite the fact that irritation is stabbing through him – hot and acute. She knows she's lying. _He_ knows she's lying. He wishes she'd be smarter about this. Just tell Waller about what she's seeing in the dreams. June's acting like it would be the apocalypse for A.R.G.U.S to get their hands on that tomb before she did. "…Yeah."

"So…I'll just…go."

Her brows are furrowed – as if she's subconsciously trying to communicate how sorry she is for hiding things from him. Rick shakes his head, watching her go. Sometimes he hates that he knows June as well as he does. Whilst she's not exactly lying to him, she clearly doesn't want him in the loop, either.

"Fuckin' knew it," he mutters, storming back over to Grant.

The other man grabs his gun and stands upright, a smirk on his face. "She up to something?"

Rick doesn't find the situation quite so funny. His face is grim as he replies, bluntly: "Yeah – let's go."

They both walk through the camp as casually as possible before cutting out into the forest. Night has now completely fallen and underneath the trees it is almost pitch black – the dense foliage concealing even the dim light from the moon.

But Rick and Grant are professionals and June and Melissa are not. Rick has nearly seventeen years of stealth training beneath his belt and he moves virtually silently – his knees slightly bent to keep his weight distributed evenly. They keep their guns at the ready – just in case - not so much as breaking a twig as they cut a straight line through the creepers and trees.

Almost immediately, there is the muffled sound of people moving through the forest. They are trying to be quiet, but Rick sees their shadows up ahead. At about the same time he registers that, a shaft of light cuts through the trees from his right and the crackle of a radio breaks through the quiet. He should have figured Waller would have set up a patrol for this exact reason.

Rick makes a rapid hand gesture to Grant, telling him to get low. It's easy to conceal themselves – the jungle floor is dense with shrubs and plants – and they wait quietly until the patrol has passed, Rick's heart thudding in his chest. He doesn't want to let June and Melissa get far enough ahead that they make it to the temple, so the moment they're in the clear he sets out as fast as he can without actually sprinting.

They catch up with the two women in under ten seconds – and they don't realise that Rick and Grant are behind them until they're on them. With precise skill, Rick shoves June hard up against a tree to keep her out of sight. He muffles her yell with one hand, relieved that she stops struggling the moment that she registers that it's him. Though her features are hard to make out in the darkness, she is emanating a crackling tension that tells him that she is spitting mad, despite the fact she's not attempting to push him off her.

June waits for Rick to remove his hand before hissing in a low undertone: "What are you doing?"

"What am _I_ doing?" he snaps back, straining to keep his voice down. "What are _you_ doing?"

"We're trying to find the tomb?!" She says it like it's not the craziest thing to be doing under the given circumstances.

"Waller's gonna have your ass –"

"Rick, I don't _care_!" June breaks out, so furiously that he blinks. She stabs a finger up the hill, in the direction of the temple. "The way to control the Enchantress's magic is _in there_ …The way to _control_ the most _powerful meta-human_ you have _ever_ encountered is _in there_. She is _not_ going to get it!"

But Rick is abruptly as impassive as a rock against June's pleading. He can physically feel his walls go up – his brain turning hyper-focused on his goal. He just has to get her out of here. That's all he has to do. Philosophical arguments about morality and power don't come into this. His grip around her arm becomes tighter as he tugs June a few paces back towards camp. She stumbles after him in the night, trying to dig her heels in.

"What are you _doing_?!" Melissa snaps at Rick, enraged. She attempts to take a step forward, but Grant holds the older woman back firmly. They're no match for two soldiers.

"We are all goin' back to the camp," Rick snarls at Melissa and June. " _Now_! Before they realise we're missing."

" _No_ –!" June snaps – her voice high-pitched like it always is when she's upset. She begins to really struggle against him this time – shoving against his shoulder in a futile attempt to break his grip. "No – Rick – let go of me! Let. Go!" But Rick wrestles June in front of him – caging her into his chest and attempting to crowd her further in the right direction. He's sweating as June twists in his grip like a fish – doesn't see it coming before it's too late. The hand that slaps across his face isn't half-assed. She really hits him – and means it. Rick has had a lot worse, but it's the shock more than anything that automatically makes him take a step back away from her.

"Oh my God –" June gasps, her eyes automatically filling with horrified tears. Her hands go up to cover her mouth. "Rick, I'm sorry. I didn't mean –"

The side of his face stings. He shakes his head, trying to clear the emotional white-noise there. He doesn't know how he feels. He just knows that he pushed June far enough for her to raise a hand against him. He'd always known it was dangerous to push her into a corner – make her desperate or force her to do something she didn't want to do. He just didn't realise she was that scared or that determined about _this_. The action speaks louder than words: she's serious. But then again, so is he.

"June," he says, his voice deadly level. "Give it up."

But she just stands there.

"Are you an idiot?" Melissa snaps at him in exasperation, speaking over June's sudden muteness. "Amanda Waller is going to turn your girlfriend into a _weapon_. How are _we_ the ones doing the morally questionable thing, here?"

But Rick's eyes don't leave June's. He tries desperately to make her see what he has seen all along…that the Enchantress is not good. Is not redeemable. Is not to be trusted. "June...that thing…it _wants_ you to go down there –"

" – and just because Dzmor _says_ we should do something, we should do the opposite, right?" she fires back, angrily.

" _Yeah_ , that's pretty much what you do when the evil, devil spirit starts communicating with you," Grant cuts in for the first time – looking between June and Melissa as if they have lost their minds. They have all seen the impact the witch has had on June's life – the pain and suffering she has caused her.

"Rick…" June attempts, taking a hesitant step forwards him. "I haven't had a choice in what happened to my body since I last came here. Those decisions were all made for me…Let me at least do this – _please."_

Like this, in the moonlight, June looks almost ethereal. Her long brown hair streams down her back – her bright blue eyes gazing up into his – still slightly wet with tears. She reaches up cautiously to touch the side of his face that she hit. Though it twinges, Rick keeps his face carefully blank, not wanting her to feel guilty for hurting him.

Inside, Rick is tearing himself apart. The soldier in him knows it's a dumb, dangerous thing to do. But the part of him that is in love with her reminds him of every time he ever drove June in for testing. Every time she had a nightmare he couldn't prevent or felt pain he couldn't save her from. He remembers his dream of her in a cage – how he swore he'd never let that happen. Rick craves to give June the freedom she wants…and he knows it would physically kill him to see her become nothing more than a puppet for Waller.

He swallows heavily as June's fingers trace his jaw-line. She must instinctively know that she's getting somewhere, because she tries one more time. "…please?"

All traces of anger and desperation and frustration are are gone from her voice. She merely looks at him – asking for his help.

He is in so deep.

"Fine," Rick reluctantly grinds out – against his better judgment.

June's eyes widen in surprise as Melissa rolls her eyes at them both. Grant merely has the look of someone who's turned a page in a book only to realise there's an entire chapter missing in between. " _Are you serious right now?"_ he mutters to Rick as they walk up ahead of the two women, carefully scouting the darkened jungle up ahead for any sign of Waller's people. Melissa grumbles at the constant instructions to stop and start and loop back, but it's obvious to all of them that she and June would have been caught by now without their help.

Rick's eyes restlessly move across the landscape, but he glances at Grant briefly – his expression serious. "If they go down there, and somethin' happened to them…I'd never forgive myself."

Grant nods slowly. "So…you didn't buy any of that crap?"

Rick snorts under his breath, glancing up at the menacing-looking mouth of rock in the temple wall. It gapes – dark and threatening – like the highway to hell. Rick unconsciously grips his rifle a little tighter. Maybe it's because he already knows about the Enchantress, but something about this place makes his skin crawl. Nothing good is going to happen here tonight. "Hell no," he mutters, looking back over his shoulder at June as she walks after them. Her back is straight, her face set and determined as she scrabbles over rocks and vines – one step behind him the whole time.

He had always thought that he would do anything for her. Go to the ends of the earth for her.

He guessed this was it.

* * *

 **A/N** Reviews have been curbing off these past few chapters - I hope you guys will continue to stay with this story! We are very nearly at events that will immediately lead up to the film, which I am so excited about. Let me know if there are any issues with pacing/writing that might mean this is lagging slightly and I will do my best to fix it. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N** It's the big one, you guys.

* * *

 **WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 25**

* * *

 _ **June**_

The jungle is an indistinct mass of shape as June moves through the night after Rick and Grant. They walk so smoothly and quietly that at times – despite the fact they are less than a few feet in front of her – June loses them in amongst the shadows. They both hold their rifles loosely into their shoulders, as if they expect a shoot-out at any minute. Rick often uses his scope to glass the trees; by the small, red light, June guesses the gun has some kind of infrared technology. June's heart is in her throat as she tries to follow them silently, mentally cursing every time she trips over a vine or audibly rustles a bush. She can hear Melissa behind her; the careful steadiness of her breathing telling June that the older woman is unnerved, too.

The moon slips and slides through the dense foliage above her head and June feels a slight twinge of uneasiness as she surveys their small group.

She's sure she's right. The heart couldn't fall into the wrong hands. It was too much power for a person or group or government with an agenda. The strength of her conviction was enough for her to risk everything and come back to this place – her own, personal hell.

But now there were three other people whose fate would be determined by that conviction. Three other people whose lives would be affected by _her_ choice. And, really, how likely was it that they would all walk away from this with little more than a slap on the wrist? They were all risking so much.

The temple is a misleadingly far walk – despite the fact that it seemed to loom, close and threatening over the camp. They begin to climb up a rocky, almost vertical incline and Rick reaches a hand down to help June up and over one of the bigger boulders. It's the first time he's looked at her since they set out, and June finds herself trying to prolong the moment. She'd stared at his back most of the way here, hoping that he would turn around and say something that would reassure her that they were okay. But Rick had led the way with a steely, no-nonsense attitude – more a soldier than a man. He didn't have time for emotional detours – that's not how he and his men had been trained - but June reaches up and touches the side of his face again. The side that she hit.

"Are you okay?" she asks, nervously. She strains her eyes in the darkness to catch a hint of the expression on his face, but as usual Rick just tries to reassure her _._

"'m fine."

She doesn't believe him. The guilt that she feels for slapping him is unbelievable – almost overwhelming her annoyance that he'd tried to push her around. She didn't appreciate him man-handling her like she was nothing more than a rag-doll, rather than his girlfriend. "I'm sorry," June winces apologetically. "Does it hurt?"

The corner of Rick's mouth lifts. "A bit," he admits, though there's a perverse kind of pride when he tells her: "You've got a pretty good arm on you."

It's enough for her to know that he's not holding a grudge. Despite the twinge of relief, June also feels her face heat up with a blush. She withdraws her hand from his jaw and scuffs her toe against the ground.

"Still…it wasn't okay."

Rick just sort of laughs in the back of his throat and June winces at his amusement. "I can't believe I hit you."

"Oh really?" he smirks.

" _Yeah!_ I'm not…that's just so not _me_ ," she protests, wrinkling her nose.

"C'mon - you're pretty feisty."

" - but I'm not _violent_."

Rick rolls his eyes, rubbing a hand up and down June's back absentmindedly as Melissa finally reaches the rocky out-crop that she, Rick and Grant are standing on. "Like I said - don' worry about it," he mutters, pushing her forwards gently.

"… _like that's possible,"_ June mutters sarcastically under her breath. She doubted she'd ever forget the moment she slapped him across the face – it was now permanently burned into her memory along with an emotional cocktail of mortification, guilt and embarrassment.

As they climb up towards the temple, June deliberately tries to focus on the ground beneath her feet rather than what is in front of her. Now that they are close, she can't help but remember what happened to her the last time she was here. The pit. The skulls. The sickening feeling of violation as her body was inhabited. June rubs a hand down her throat, swallowing heavily.

She reminds herself that this is the end – not the beginning. This will all be over soon.

They are about to reach the brow of the hill and the opening in the rock that leads into the temple when Grant abruptly stiffens. He wordlessly gestures for them to get low, cutting left to use a small bush as cover.

June's throat constricts – it doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what Grant is going to say.

"Guards," he informs Rick under his breath, his expression grim. "At the entrance."

" _What_?" Melissa hisses, wide-eyed. Her expression tells June that they're feeling exactly the same way: they're screwed. " _How many_?!"

"Two."

The two men look at one another, both crouched on their haunches – silently communicating something that June doesn't understand.

"June?" Rick asks, eventually, looking down at her. "How sure're you about this?"

"I'm sure," she insists. "But what are you -?"

But before she can finish her sentence, Rick and Grant have ducked out from behind the shrub – blending in with the shadows cast by the temple walls. June's eyes widen as she realises what they are about to do, and before Melissa can stop her she rushes out from their cover just in time to see Rick catch the first guard by surprise, violently smashing the butt end of his rifle into their face. There's a muffled crunch as their nose breaks – the split-second sound of a surprised grunt – before they hit the ground. Grant is upon the second guard before they can lift their weapon against Rick. He comes up behind them and uses a lethal-looking piece of long, black plastic to cut off their airway – bracing their body against his own. June watches as the guard struggles – his back arching up into the air and his body jerking in an attempt to throw Grant off of him. It takes all of a minute before he, too, slumps to the ground – limp. Grant lets him drop onto the dirt unceremoniously.

Rick turns around – about to tell Melissa and June that it's all-clear – before his eyes fall on June. June thinks she sees him hesitate before he strides over to her – transferring his rifle into one hand so he can cradle the back of her head with his other.

"You alrigh'?" he checks, taking in her shocked, scared expression.

She can see blood smeared on his gun, but she forces herself to meet Rick's gaze. She had known he was a soldier. She knew that he killed people. Seeing him and Grant do it up-close with such ruthless precision is a different kind of story, however.

"Yeah - yeah," she huffs out, her heart-rate slightly too fast. She swallows, attempting to sound more convincing. "I'm fine."

Rick nods to himself – his eyes now warily searching past her shoulder for any other sign of A.R.G.U.S. Apparently satisfied, he drops his hand to the small of her back, urging her forwards. "C'mon – we need to move."

But despite Rick's words, June slows a little as she reaches the unconscious bodies of the guards. She lingers – Melissa passing her by a full five paces before she realises that June has stopped.

The two men lie haphazardly on the ground. The first one's face is so bloody it's hard to make out his individual features – the second man's skin such an awful shade of blue she almost looks away. But June forces herself to keep looking: see the bloody chafe mark around his throat where Grant half-strangled him. These were the consequences of her decision.

"June."

She looks up quickly. It's Melissa who has spoken. Unlike Rick – who has become so desensitized to violence that he probably doesn't understand or can't remember how June is feeling right now – Melissa's eyes are sympathetic and understanding. "We need to go."

Her voice is softer than June has ever heard it – maternal where June had never considered Melissa particularly motherly. She nods, forcibly tearing her eyes away from the bodies and following them into the temple.

The cave is as June remembers; actually a collapsed wall in one of the highest windows of the temple. They have to climb down into the main chamber – picking their way down the landslide of stone. Moonlight filters in through the slit-like windows that have not yet been completely submerged underground, but it is still too dark to see the whole hall. Rick and Grant turn on the flashlights on the end of their rifles – picking out the swirling rock dust in the air.

June can feel her pupils dilate like a cat's as she tries to peer through the darkness.

"Which way?" Grant's tense voice echoes, hollow, around the hall. June realises that both the men are now looking back at her and Melissa for directions.

Whilst June tries to unstick her throat, Melissa glances at her. "The burial chamber is down here," she says, taking over – hesitating only briefly before walking out of their small pool of light.

Rick and Grant hasten to follow – lighting her way - but June hesitates. She's getting the strangest feeling of déjà vu…she recognises these pillars. This room. This was the throne room. This is where Dzmor set a man on fire. The memory superimposes itself on top of the crumbling, quiet relic in front of her. She can see the temple in all its glory – the people, the colour, the emotion. Now everything feels too-quiet, still touched by the scars of past mistakes. She can almost hear the whispers of the dead….Had the cave drawing really been a story…or a warning for those like her who would stumble upon the Enchantress and unwittingly unleash her power?

The burial chamber had been the Archaeological Institute's initial goal during their first excavation. It was the room that would have told them the most about the people who had lived here all those years ago, and June and Melissa are more than familiar with how to get there, even in the dark. They enter the old, damp water tunnel – Rick and Grant's flashlights picking out skulls and bones embedded in the walls. Rick has to duck his head slightly against the low ceiling.

They walk fast, knowing that Waller will soon discover they are missing from camp. But somehow June doesn't feel any of her old anxiety – just a dull kind of excitement. Her palms feel sweaty, and her heart keeps on jumping in her chest. She pushes between Grant and Rick the moment they draw close, and the two men exchange a glance as she walks forwards with a renewed confidence.

The ceiling of the burial chamber is domed and reinforced with bricks of stone. Each tomb is laid out in neat rows of eight – four rows in all. Yellow tape and cards mark out each grave: emperors and kings, every last one.

"So – which grave we digging up?" Grant asks, turning to look at Melissa – his flashlight illuminating her.

Her mouth twists into a grimace, immediately blinded. " _Hey_ – point that thing somewhere else!" she snaps. "Jesus!"

" – it's this one," June cuts in, walking instinctively towards a tomb in the center of the room. It is intricately ornate, carved with markings they had tried for three years to decipher. Ultimately, it had been an impossible task with no prior knowledge of the history of the people. An entire, unknown civilization that had seemingly appeared out of the blue before disappearing just as quickly, no record left through history.

"Alrigh'" Rick mutters, walking up next to June and squaring his shoulders. "Take this-"

He hands her the rifle and June takes it from him clumsily. It feels bulky and alien in her hands, but she shines the flashlight at the tomb as Rick braces his hands against the stone slab that acts as a cover. The air in the cavern feels unusually still – watchful. But this time June has no 'bad feeling' – no sixth sense that is making her uneasy. There is only the anticipation pushing blood through her veins; the thud of her heart against her rib-cage. When Rick looks at her one, final time – as if to check she is really sure – June just nods determinedly – her gaze not moving from the grave.

Rick pushes hard and the stone shifts half-way. Grant hovers behind him – his finger hovering over the trigger of his gun as if he expects the boogie-man to leap out at any moment. When Rick pushes again, the slab of rock crashes to the ground with a small explosion of dust. He coughs, squinting.

June has seen enough tombs that the sight of the small, browning skeleton does not bother her. Her hands are full with Rick's gun. It is Melissa who leans over – Melissa who retrieves the rotting wooden box covered with a thick layer of dust. Her hands are shaking slightly as she looks at June, abruptly unsure. How intact could a human heart be after thousands of years?

But this wasn't a _human_ heart, June reminds herself.

" _O – open it_ ," she tells the older woman, her voice abruptly hoarse. Rick moves to stand at June's side, taking his weapon back. The gun suits him better – looks less unwieldly and bulky. He holds it easily, as if it is an extension of himself.

They all watch as Melissa carefully settles the box down on the ground and then opens it.

" _Fuck_ ," Grant mutters under his breath – his tone a mixture of disgust and awe.

The heart is as fresh and healthy as it had been in June's memory. The organ is almost entirely black, with a dull, green light emanating from it. Somehow, separate from a body, it has survived on its own for thousands of years.

The rational part of June's head once again points out the obvious: the heart had been buried for a reason. It should be left…but they can't. Because of her, A.R.G.U.S now knew that there was something in this temple that could control the Enchantress – and they weren't about to rest until they had it.

" _Impossible_ ," Melissa breathes, lifting the heart off the ground carefully – gingerly holding it up to inspect it. "I've never seen anything like this."

"Because it ain't human," Grant shoots back, roughly, gripping his rifle more tightly. He looks at June and Rick for some kind of agreement. "Are you guys seeing this?" he demands.

But Rick just shakes his head. His jaw is slightly slack, his expression disbelieving. "You were right," he mutters to June.

Melissa raises both eyebrows at him. "What, and you wanted us to be wrong?"

Rick doesn't respond and Melissa's gaze returns to the heart, abruptly analytical. "I wonder how it can have existed this long…."

"Can we just bag it and go?" Grant interjects, impatiently.

"You want to take it? I thought we were ending this tonight?" Rick snaps. "Destroyin' it."

But Melissa seems to have abruptly had – for lack of a better phrase - a change of heart. " – We're not _destroying_ this –" she growls, looking at him as if he's lost his mind. "This is _incredible_ –"

"You said it yourself - that thing is a weapon –!" he snarls back; he and Grant quickly closing ranks – tall and intimidating. "We crush it."

June watches them argue. She feels strangely disjointed from her own body, as if she's floating within it and not in control. Her mind and her body – as of late, the two hadn't felt particularly connected.

Nobody else has noticed that since the heart has been removed from the wooden chest, it seems to be pulsating a stronger, brighter green. June half expects it to start beating of its own accord in Melissa's hand. She feels strangely giddy, a kind of electricity running through her veins. Was this magic? If it was, it was intoxicating. It was hard to imagine how people could be afraid of something that felt so…natural. It wasn't wrong. It wasn't disgusting or dangerous. It just _was_. For so long June had seen everything as alien – not of this world – but she's now beginning to understand that nothing is more ancient…nothing brings her closer to understanding this earth than magic.

"Do any of you really think you can out-manoeuvre me?"

Melissa, Grant and Rick all whirl around. Amanda Waller is walking out of the tunnel in amongst two, single-file lines of about fifteen guards. Five are in army uniform – Rick's men – the other ten dressed in the navy blue of A.R.G.U.S. The burial chamber abruptly becomes a glaring, dizzying criss-cross of moving flashlights – pointed glaringly at June and the others. A bat spooks and flaps blindly around the ceiling. Rick and Grant raise their guns defensively.

June should be terrified on Rick's behalf, but she isn't. She doesn't care that Waller has found them. She doesn't care that they are outnumbered.

Somehow she knows that this time, A.R.G.U.S – despite its ruthlessness – despite its wealth and its legion of scientists – is not going to win. Because they are only human. They swarmed, desperate, like ants, to understand and control what they would never understand and control.

Waller and her men abruptly appear so insignificant.

June smiles slightly as Amanda Waller attempts to threaten and manipulate her way out of the situation: the only tools of power for a weak human woman. "We can do this the easy way, or the hard way," she says, coolly, looking between June, Melissa, Rick and Grant. "It's your choice."

"Oh yeah?" Rick challenges, still not lowering his weapon – which is trained on the guard closest to Waller. Pointed at Rick himself are five guns, but he doesn't seem concerned. He edges himself in front of June, as if hoping that Waller will not see her. It's a useless gesture. "When have we ever had a choice about any of this?"

"This doesn't have to concern you, Flag."

"No," he agrees, not moving. "It doesn't. But this is the last time you mess with her. She's not a toy."

June hears the way Rick's voice turns tense with emotion, but nothing more registers. He may as well have been another one of Waller's personal bodyguards for all the attachment she was feeling.

"Doctor Moone is a civilian with a highly dangerous supernatural being possessing her body," Waller returns, walking several steps further into the no-man's land of space between Rick and her men, apparently unconcerned by the amount of weapons being pointed by either side. "Be smart about this. Stand aside."

Grant throws Melissa a look out of the corner of his eye. The older woman stands, clearly stalling – unsure of what to do. Waller instantly latches on to the show of weakness.

"Doctor Rodriguez," she murmurs, walking forwards even further – now barely a step away from taking the heart out of Melissa's hands herself. "You are holding the key to a power beyond your wildest dreams. You may not understand how to handle that kind of power, but I do. Give it to an agency where it will be contained and researched. I assure you there will be no consequences."

Melissa twitches, looking at Rick. Unable to take his eyes off the men opposite him, he merely shakes his head emphatically. "Don' do it," he snaps. "…destroy it! Now!" He glances back at June – as if suddenly remembering that she is there, too. The only one to have not spoken. "Do it –!" he appeals to both of them, frustrated by their inability to act.

"Don't you dare –" Waller interjects, coldly, also looking at Melissa. "You do that and I will personally make sure the four of you go to prison for the rest of your lives."

Melissa's eyes are wide. Like Rick, she glances sharply back at June as if waiting for her to say something.

She has watched quietly as they fought over the heart.

It was always the same…humans would never change. They could not trust one individual to rise above the rest. She remembers the video of Superman flying over a city – the golden, gleaming statues built in his honour. The crowds of people who had worshipped him as a 'national hero'; a God. If he hadn't died, he would have felt their wrath. They would have turned against him.

It was the way of humans.

June stalks forwards slowly.

She can see on the Melissa's face that she wants to give in – wants to place her trust in Waller. It was the easier option. She had made the same mistake, once. Not realising that power was not a form of responsibility, but a form of control.

She had lived that life – seen the consequences of that misguided trust.

The Enchantress moves June Moone's body like that of a sleep walker. She had been a good host. Compliant and easily to manipulate. She had got her to where she needed to be with admirable skill and determination…the Enchantress had enjoyed her time in her body. Enjoyed feeling the pureness of the girl's emotions. But June had been a slave in her own way, too; just as she had.

Suddenly, the Enchantress punches a hand through Melissa's back, breaking her spine and ripping through her lungs until her fist comes out the other side. She grasps her heart as the woman's body arches and spasms - pulls it back through the hole in her chest.

She would make the humans feel the pain she had felt. They would pay for their mistakes.

* * *

 **A/N** Thank you so much to every single person who reviewed the last chapter. I know a few of you were hoping that no-one would get hurt here, but I decided to up the stakes a bit. (And there's more to come next time!)

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	26. Chapter 26

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 26**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

Rick stays alert as they make their way through the tunnel – making sure to keep several paces in front of June and Melissa. In many ways the cave structure – with its low ceiling and grey rock – reminds him of missions in Afghanistan, trying to locate terrorist cells. The exception, however, is that the air here is much cooler – feels _older_ , somehow. He's not rounding each corner expecting to be fired upon at any second, because there clearly hasn't been any human life down here in centuries. But that doesn't mean he's not expecting to encounter some other kind of alien, mystical life force. If June had found the Enchantress in this temple, who knew what other things could be buried down here? The thought makes him grip his gun harder, holding it into this shoulder and at the ready.

Behind him, he can hear June and Melissa breathing. Grant is on his left – just as alert and ready to respond to the slightest threat as he is.

As they draw closer to the burial chamber, June surprises him by pushing between him and Grant and striding forwards. She'd been visibly reluctant on the approach to the temple – looking up at it as if she expected to find a nest of coiled vipers inside. Now, Rick thinks he catches more than just courage and determination on June's face…was there something like excitement there, too? He can't be sure; he just tries to keep up with her abruptly hurried pace, trying to figure out what has caused the change in her behaviour.

" _June_ –" he hisses after her – but she either doesn't hear him or she pays him no mind. He picks up the pace, attempting to keep up.

The burial chamber is large, with a domed ceiling so high the peek is shrouded in shadow. It's hard to judge how far underground they are, but Rick guesses by the gentle sloping of the tunnel they have come some way.

He has never seen anything like this, though he knows Melissa and June have been here before. The moss growing in the cracks between slabs of stone gives the impression of something ancient, but Rick also can't shake the sense of other-worldliness. He edges forwards as June identifies the correct tomb, breathing in the cool, stale air.

When the flashlight on the butt of his rifle catches June's face, he does a double-take. Her expression as she stares back at him is startlingly blank and mask-like; an effect only enhanced by the white glare of the bright light. It's like looking at a mannequin. Rick blinks in shock and June fidgets, now bending intently over the grave with Melissa. He breathes out a deep breath. Maybe it was just the glare from the flashlight. Still, despite what he has told Grant, Rick has no idea what he would do if the Enchantress broke June's control now. All he can do is get this over with as quickly as possible.

Get her out of here.

Get her safe.

He shoves the lid from the tomb brusquely and Melissa retrieves a small, wooden box. Rick knows that this box – what is _inside_ this box – is not the answer to all their problems. As Melissa opens it slowly to reveal a glowing green heart, Rick swallows heavily. He's got this creepy, sixth-sense feeling; this is not the end; he's pretty sure that their problems are only just beginning.

He glances at Grant sharply, his second-in-command reflecting his own expression of revulsion and amazement. How old was that thing? Thousands of years old?…and it had been down here all this time. That _witch_ had known it was down here. Taking over June's body would have given her the perfect opportunity…Rick shrugs his shoulders, attempting to relieve some of the tension there. He's impatient. They've been down here too long, and he's all-too aware of the unconscious guards they have left at the entrance.

Waller would have noticed that they were missing quickly. She saw and knew everything.

When it becomes apparent that June and Melissa have no intention of destroying the heart, Rick snaps.

"Hey – you said it yourself: that thing is a weapon!" he snarls at Melissa. He doesn't have time for her intellectual crap. He doesn't care if this thing held the cure to cancer. Doesn't care that she hasn't seen anything like this before; he's heard enough of that from June. Now wasn't the time to be playing scientist. It was the time to be a soldier and make a decision. "We crush it."

"Are you kidding me?" Melissa spits back, still holding the heart in the palm of her hand. He has no idea how she is comfortable touching it. It could be a trick of the eddy of green light, but he thinks he can see the thing pulsing slightly in her hand. "What part of we are dealing with _magic_ do you not understand?! We might not find anything like this again! This needs to be studied - "

"Look, I'm not a big expert on magic or meta-humans. I also don't have much experience in the HUMAN HEART arena…but we need to book ass, guys," Grant cuts in, looking at Rick significantly. "Waller's people will be on their way. Let's just figure out what to do with it when we get out of this place."

Grant is already a couple of steps towards the exit – not waiting for a response – and Rick looks to June, fully expecting to have to physically drag her away. But June is still hovering by the tomb – further away from them than he had expected her to be. She is looking at Melissa, and he's not sure why he is suddenly so unnerved until it hits him that he hasn't heard June speak since before she told Melissa to open the box. June hadn't shut up about the heart since it had been on the cards to find it in the first place. This empty silence was so unlike her; seemed to blend in with the insidious quiet of the funeral chamber.

Her name sticks in his throat – and in years to come he wishes it hadn't. Wishes he'd said something then instead of hesitating.

 _June_?

"Do any of you really think you can out-manoeuvre me?"

Mentally cursing, Rick whirls back round to see Amanda Waller flanked by at least ten guards. He's suddenly gripping his rifle so tightly that his knuckles are white. There are too many for them to take – even though he notices the uniform of his own men mixed in with the A.R.G.U.S security team. Rick settles for training his weapon on the group closest to the exit, rather than those closest to Waller. If he can take down them, maybe Melissa and June will be able to make it out.

A no-man's land of space quickly appears between the two groups. Flashlights glare blindingly in the darkness and for a moment everything is tense as guns are trained from either side. Of course, Amanda Waller seems utterly unfazed by it all, and Rick's grits his teeth together, glancing at Melissa.

She's still holding the god-damn heart out on full display. Too late to hide it, then. Too late to pretend that they haven't just found what Waller has probably been dreaming of ever since June revealed what she was. This heart was the reason June had been watched instead of arrested. The reason she had been given a free life instead of one behind bars…because there had always been this possibility that she could be controlled. And complete, sweet, unconditional control was something Waller had made it her life's mission to obtain.

Her mouth is curled upwards in a familiar smirk – a cat who's just got the cream.

"We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. It's your choice."

He wonders what she defines as the hard way. Shooting them? Surely even Waller wouldn't cross that line. The fact that Rick isn't 100% sure of that, however, causes him to grit his teeth hard. "Oh yeah?" he challenges, sick of her ultimatums posed as 'choices'. "When have we ever had a choice in any of this?"

"This doesn't concern you, Flag."

"No," he agrees, it doesn't – not in the way Waller sees it. Because he's just the security detail, right? He's just the soldier. This _didn't_ have to concern him. Except it did. Because it concerned the woman he loved. "It doesn't. But this is the last time you mess with her. She's not a toy."

Her gaze turns cold. Even down in what is little more than a cave in an ancient temple, Waller still manages to walk round as if this is her personal office space. Apparently unconcerned, she steps further forwards into the cross-fire, switching from Rick to Melissa – obviously sensing a weaker link in the group.

"Doctor Rodriguez," she starts, smoothly. "You are holding the key to a power beyond your wildest dreams. You may not understand how to handle that kind of power, but I do. Give it to an agency where it will be contained and researched. I assure you there will be no consequences."

Rick grits his teeth against the impulse to move closer to Melissa. It's not like he has to _physically_ protect the woman from Waller – and, besides, he figures one wrong move and one of the suits across from him will happily blow his brains out. Out of the four people on his side of the room, Rick calculates that to Waller, he and Grant are the most expendable.

"Don' do it," he tries to tell the Latino woman, who is looking visibly torn. "…destroy it. Now!"

He looks back at June, wondering why the hell she wasn't _doing_ anything - _saying_ anything. If he shoots the three men by the exit, she can run. But the last thing June looks about to do right now is move. In fact, she looks completely frozen to the spot. Rick's heart pinches in his chest, and for the first time in a long time, he actually feels fear. He looks back at Melissa with renewed desperation. _Was June even in there_? "Do it -!"

But before Waller can fully get through her list of _how_ long exactly they will all go to jail for if they oppose her, there's a horrible gagging sound.

Rick jerks his head round in time to see an arm protruding from Melissa's chest. Her whole body is pulled taut, like it's on a string. Her eyes are wide – shocked. For a moment, Rick can't quite reconcile what he is seeing. He knows he can see June behind Melissa and he knows that Melissa is in some kind of pain. He can see an arm that is not hers. And then the arm wrenches back with a crunch and Melissa's whole body just crumples to the ground and it is June who is left standing.

June who has one arm covered in blood up to the elbow, clutching the heart.

The shock causes Rick to lower his weapon infinitesimally. There's a sound of surprise or disgust from someone. A moment where time slows.

Rick is already moving. Instinctively, he knows what will come next – and the crack of a shot comes before he can take his second step. He's not sure what he intended to do; push June out of the way? Put himself between her and the bullet? Waller's draw is too quick for that. She fires that old-school Smith and Wesson he's seen before without any flicker of remorse.

Almost in the same heartbeat as Melissa collapsed, June's head snaps back. Rick watches his girlfriend get shot in the head.

The pain isn't dimmed by shock. He doesn't get that kind of relief. It is sudden and immediate – ripping through his entire body. He has seen people die before and has kept going. He has seen people die before and kept his composure. They trained you for this. But nothing could have prepared Rick for seeing June die.

His throat has suddenly swelled up and every muscle in his body seizes up with shock for about a split second. When he unfreezes, he's only half-conscious of what he's saying as he runs forwards, collapsing on his knees beside her.

" _No, June, no-"_

Rick scoops June up against his chest, and the physical limpness of her small body in his arms is enough to feel as if his heart has ripped clean out of his chest. Her brown hair dangles to the ground – her face is slack, her eyes closed. The wound itself is clean – there is only the smallest amount of blood there. Rick's vision dizzies and swims and for a second he actually thinks he might pass out. He clutches June to his body more tightly, forcing himself to look and see.

"No _–"_ he moans, tears pricking his eyes. The sounds coming from him are almost primitive – like that of a wounded animal. He was supposed to keep her safe. He was supposed to protect her. This wasn't happening – they'd come too far.

"June _–"_ he whimpers, brushing the hair out of her face. She used to do that for him in bed – he'd fall asleep with the feeling of her fingers combing through his hair. Rick almost says _'wake up_ ', and he swallows the impulse down with force – she wasn't asleep, and she wasn't going to wake up. " _June_?" he repeats, a sob bursting up from his chest. Every second of looking at her like this is physical agony, but he can't look away – doesn't _want_ to look away. He loved her, and he still loves her. He can't love someone who's dead.

He is half-aware of Waller approaching and bending down to pick up the heart that has slipped from June's lifeless clutch.

How was it, that no matter what, Waller always seemed to win?

With effort, Rick tears his eyes from June's face – looking up at Waller. "You killed her," he croaks, barely able to see past the burning in his eyes. He can't quite believe it, and it's that more than anything that keeps him from picking up his own weapon and retaliating.

Waller makes a face, gazing down at June. There is no regret in her expression – she merely stares down at her dead body appraisingly. "…I would say I didn't think she had it in her…" she replies, holding the heart in one hand as if she's weighing it. Her mouth twists upwards in a show of irony. "But I guess I was wrong." She turns to one of her men, handing over the heart and instructing them to take Melissa's body above-ground.

"You're evil," Rick tells Waller, his mouth twisting into something ugly. "You know that? You're fuckin' –"

" – your lady-friend isn't as easy to kill as you might think, Flag," Waller cuts in, calmly. "There's a reason she's the most powerful meta-human on the planet."

Despite himself, Rick looks back down at June and his eyes widen.

The gun-shot wound is gone.

He touches the blood on June's forehead gingerly with one hand, feeling the smooth expanse of skin beneath. " _\- what - ?"_ he begins, just as June's eyes fly open and she takes in a rasping gulp of air. Her whole body jerks to life in his arms within a matter of seconds. He almost drops her in surprise.

" _What happened?"_ June is already gasping, before she or he are even properly coherent as to what _is_ happening. " _What happened_?...Rick?" she asks, her hand clutching his arm – always the first person she sees; the first person she trusted.

She stares up at him, confusion painted on her face and Rick can only stare back at June, his eyes still wide with shock. His heart has stopped beating in his chest.

"….what did I do…?" June is asking him, and he can only watch and wait, hardly daring to believe that she is, in fact, alive.

"…I'll see you two above ground," Waller smirks, turning and walking out of the chamber.

Rick swallows heavily as June's eyes fall on the blood coating her arm.

"Rick…" she whispers, looking up at him – her gaze searching his with an intense desperation. "…what happened?"

Despite the distress in her voice, there's also a vulnerability and a terror…as if June herself doesn't really want to know.

* * *

June had been wrong and he had been right.

Rick takes no pleasure in that thought.

As they get ready for the funeral, he thinks what a better place the world would be if June was always right. He straightens his black tie in the mirror, trying to force down the emotions that have been slowly poisoning his bloodstream ever since the dig…anger, mostly. Despair, hate, pity.

He watches June put in a pair of pearl earrings. Her eyes are glassy, like she's not really seeing what's in front of her; she's been walking around like a ghost for the past two weeks and it's killing him. It's like all the life just got sucked right out of her…not only had Melissa died, but A.R.G.U.S now had the heart. The Enchantress was still alive and in June's body – and would be there for the rest of her life. June would always live under the scrutiny of government organisations and be little more than a pawn.

Everything that could have possibly gone wrong, had gone wrong.

Rick sits himself on the edge of the bed, looking up at June as she methodically fastens in the second earring. He rubs his hands up and down his pant legs, trying to work himself up to what he's about to say.

"We need to talk…" he says, eventually – his voice low.

June turns to look at him. There are dark circles under her eyes. She hasn't been sleeping well since everything had happened. Either the Enchantress finds a way to torment her through her dreams, or she has nightmares – wakes up screaming. His dreams haven't exactly been all rainbows and unicorns either…that can happen, when you see the woman you love get shot in the head.

She sits carefully by his side. June moves differently, now; as if the world is impossibly fragile – made of glass – and one wrong move will break it. She looks down at her hands, her shoulders hunched – none of the old fight or fire left in her posture.

"Okay," she murmurs – unquestioning and quietly accepting. Rick feels a stab in his chest; all he wants is for June to be happy. He wishes it with every fibre of his being. He'd fight Waller, A.R.G.U.S – the Enchantress herself – if it would get her a normal life again. But things don't work out that way, and he can't take on the entire world for her, much as he wants to.

"Waller…is officially pulling me from your security detail," he explains, swallowing. "A.R.G.U.S want to take back the house."

Red spots flush June's pale, sickly white skin. She looks at Rick sharply – a deer caught in the headlights. " _What_? Did she find out about –?"

"No," he reassures her quickly, shaking his head. "…no…but they think that now they have the heart…they don't need to watch you as…closely anymore."

June bites her lip and nods to herself, despite the fact that her eyes are filling with tears. "That makes sense," she mumbles, thickly. He watches her look around the bedroom they have shared for the past two months. Early in the morning, it is filled with a quiet, gentle light. The bed has been made neatly by June – both their clothes hang together in the wardrobe. It's their home.

Rick reaches out and holds June's hand where it rests in her lap, looking around the room as well. "…I'm thinkin' we buy this place off them. Then it would be ours, properly."

It is obviously that last thing she expected him to say. Her eyes widen and she jerks her head round to look at him once more. "You're not…you're not leaving me?"

He's incredulous that she thinks he would. Did she think he'd stuck round for the last two weeks for the hell of it? The moment Waller had obtained the Enchantress's heart, his contract had become void. He had been here, in this house with her – trying to help her through the pain and the hurt – because – "June…I love you," he tells her, slightly frustrated by her response. The words fit awkwardly in his mouth. He's never felt like this about anyone before in his life – never felt a love that can make him feel simultaneously so vulnerable and so powerful. It's not until he says the words that he realises how much he means it - and how much she needs to hear him say it. "I _love_ you," he repeats, staring firmly into her blue eyes – waiting for the doubt and fear there to go away. "An' I ain't about to cut and run."

It might have been too much of a shock for her to hear on the morning of Melissa's funeral. Or maybe she'd always known it deep down. A choked sob escapes June's throat as she looks up at the ceiling, trying to compose herself. "But…" she breaks out, clearly trying to think through the emotion that is threatening to overwhelm her. "I don't have any savings. I don't have a job anymore…I just – I can't afford it."

"Yeah, but I can."

But she shakes her head. "No, Rick." It's her tone of voice – the way she's almost pleading with him – that makes him realise what the real issue is here.

"Look, we always said we could figure this out –"

"That was when we thought there would be an end to all this." June returns, her voice hoarse with despair. "But I can't ask you to live with this for the rest of your life. You shouldn't –" she breaks off scrubbing at the tears the are falling down her cheeks, trying to talk past the wobble in her voice. " – because I love you too –" she starts again - almost choking on the words - and Rick's heart simultaneously clenches and expands in his chest to hear her admit it. "- and –and - I can't do this to you anymore! You deserve to have a normal life and I can't – I can't give you any of that," she sobs, covering her face with her hands. "I'm _sorry_."

"Hey –" he snaps, sliding off the bed quickly and jerking her hands away from her eyes. "Look at me. June - _look at me_ …the only thing I want is _you_. Alright? I'm not stuck with anything. I count the day Waller picked me out to find you as the most important day of my life. An' I regret a lot of things. I regret that I couldn't protect you. I regret that I didn't try harder to stop you and Melissa from opening that tomb –" June hiccups, but doesn't look away from Rick as he holds her hands tightly in both of his. "-but meeting you…June, that was the luckiest day of my life."

Despite herself, June lets out an incredulous laugh. "You don't mean that."

A strand of hair has come loose from her lightly coiled bun and he reaches forwards and tucks it behind her ear, sighing. There's so much self-loathing written across June's features. He wishes that she wouldn't blame herself so much and he wishes that she knew how much he respected her for fighting so hard – for actually seeing the best in the darkest of circumstances. Trying to hold onto your life and your individuality didn't make you a bad person. It made you human. "You're a good person," he mutters eventually. It doesn't sound like much, but to him it is the highest of compliments. People like June were few and far between, and to see her so thoroughly crushed is almost as hard for him as it has been for her.

June closes her eye briefly, as if pained by his words. "I know I'm a good person," she murmurs, eventually, pulling her hands out of his and standing up. Her next words come out impossibly bitter: "Sometimes I wish I wasn't."

He straightens too, following her as she stalks away from him out of the bedroom. "You don't mean that!" he calls after her, his longer legs eating up the space between them.

"I do!" June shoots back – just as fiercely - as he manages to stop her half way down the hallway. She rounds on him, her eyes half-wild, half-furious. Her voice is high-pitched and desperate. "I _do_! Because where did it get me, huh?! I should have known from the start...that Waller – the Enchantress –!" her voice breaks abruptly and she is unable to continue.

He can see now that she's scared and hating herself. She just doesn't know where to go from here and it's making her second guess everything she's done. She feels used – defeated.

She's not the only one that feels that way.

"C'mon, don't let this change you," Rick insists, reaching for her – but June shies away from him, hunching her shoulders like his touch could possibly be toxic.

"Don't touch me," she hisses, a wild animal pushed into a corner.

" _June_ –"

"No – Rick!" she spits. "Just stop it! Stop acting like there's not a monster living inside of me! Stop acting like I wasn't the one that _killed_ Melissa! Just – just – stop acting like we're going to have a _normal_ life together, because I'm going to be sick if I have to listen to it for one more second!"

" _HEY_ –" he yells angrily, as she starts to storm towards the door - because why is _he_ the bad guy here for trying to reassure her? " _Where are you going_?!"

"For a walk!" she bites back – cold and detached.

With an effort, Rick lowers his voice, attempting to show her what she's being too emotional to see. He tells himself not to take any of this personally, that she's hurting. But it's hard when in one breath June admits that she loves him, and with her next pushes him as far away as possible. "June, you are goin' to regret it if you don't go to this funeral - I promise you that. You'll regret it for the rest of your life."

She stills, one hand on the door handle. In the past five minutes, she's opened up more to him about how she's feeling emotionally than she has in the whole two weeks since they got back. In some ways it's a relief to see _some_ emotion in her when she had been walking round like a ghost, but in other ways it's hard to see how soundly the pain and the bitterness has lodged inside of her…so deep he wonders if those wounds will ever heal. She hesitates, standing in that small, black dress.

"It wasn't you that killed her," Rick tries, one last time. "It wasn't your fault."

June lifts her head – her eyes meeting his. They are wide, teary – as if appealing to him to go back in time and fix it all. "…But it was still _me_ that convinced you all to go down there. You didn't have to - I could have gone by myself –"

"An' then the witch would have had her heart," he returns, flatly. "An' you wouldn't be here anymore."

June's chin wobbles. He knows that she knows he's right. If June had gone down there by herself, the Enchantress would have returned to her full strength. They wouldn't be stood here playing the blame-game; it would have been world domination. The thought of June being completely erased makes his blood turn ice-cold. He hates that he didn't figure out that something was off in that tomb earlier. She'd moved round like a sleep-walker – like a puppet on a string. It should have been _obvious_ what was happening, he just hadn't seen it until it was too late. They'd been played and manipulated into corners. All of them.

"I'm sorry," June whispers, eventually. "But I can't –"

"June, c'mon –"

But she opens and shuts the door. She's gone.

* * *

 **A/N** So, on a quick practical note, let me know if the re-hash of events at the beginning here is boring and I'll re-edit this chapter. It uses a lot of the same dialogue from Chapter 25, but I wanted to show those events from Rick's POV - and also use it to build up tension for 'that' scene.

Now that that is out the way: wow, this chapter was an emotional roller coaster to write. I do hate that I had to kill Melissa (I loved her character, too), but it was necessary to provide thrust for the plot and create new motivations for the different characters. Also, having to write Rick thinking that June was dead was particularly gut-wrenching.

Thank you to all those readers who review and comment on this story. I know that it has now been a couple of months since Suicide Squad has been released in theatres, and it's amazing that so many people return to fanfiction to check this story out.

Please remember to **review!**

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N** To the **Guest** reviewer who mentioned the Suicide Squad book: no, I haven't read it - but that line from Waller about the anti-christ sounds absolute gold!

* * *

 **WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 27**

* * *

 _ **June**_

June feels tears burn her eyes the moment she leaves the house. She brushes them away angrily, storming aimlessly down the street. She has no idea where she's going and people stare at her as she passes; the crying, angry young woman in the black dress. She's too emotional to care.

Rick may be right – she may live to regret not paying her last respects to Melissa. She stares through a chain-link fence into the park at the bottom of the road, where a few children are playing. In a way that has little to do with the physical barrier between them, June feels acutely separate from their world.

Because she wasn't human.

Even though she'd been possessed by the Enchantress, June had never really lost her sense of her _self_. What she hadn't realised, however, was that her sense of identity had hinged on an ever-moving struggle – whether it had been the struggle to get the Enchantress out of her, or beat A.R.G.U.S. Now that she had nothing left to fight for, June felt lost. She would never be the girl she had been. There would never be an 'end' to all this – like she and Rick had so often hoped for.

For the remainder of her life, she would be many things; a murderer. A tool. A weapon. A witch. But she would never be _June Moone_ again.

And that was the thing Rick didn't seem to get. He kept talking like they had a future, but _she_ _didn't_. He had fallen in love with her, but she had changed, and she would never be the same again. Like this, how could he possibly still have feelings for her? He would hate what she had become – he just didn't see that yet. He was clinging to the old her, and June couldn't afford to do the same.

June realises that she's threaded her fingers through the chain-link fence and is holding onto the metal wire too tightly. It leaves white, deep welts in the palms of her hands and she lets go automatically, massaging the blood flow back towards her fingers.

Despite what she has told Rick, June finds herself hovering underneath a copse of trees that fringe the graveyard where they will burry Melissa. It's a cliché, but she hovers in the shadows where she won't be seen. June doesn't deserve to be here, but at the same time, she finds that she can't _not_ be there. It's not about closure – she'd already quit the Institute and moved all her stuff out of the office – it was about respecting her friend. Even though she was the killer. Even though she didn't deserve to be there.

Because Melissa had been strong and smart and caring. It would be…wrong for June to ignore her death - no matter how guilty she felt, and even though being here felt as if she'd physically driven a knife into her chest. Melissa hadn't just gone into that temple because June had asked her to be, she'd been down there because she'd wanted to help her _friend_.

June wonders what the 'official' story is. The only two people amongst the small group of mourners who really saw what happened that night are Rick and Grant. Waller and her representatives at A.R.G.U.S are not there. Maybe they think it would cause people to ask the wrong questions. Maybe they just didn't care. This was, after all, only collateral damage; they had got what they wanted.

June swallows, looking at the cluster of people dressed all in black. She yearned to be there, if only to add to their numbers. She wanted to be next to Rick, crying as she watches them lower the casket into the ground, nestled into his side, rather than stood here alone. Despite the circumstances, she can't help but look at him. He is easy to pick out, even at this distance. Tall, stiff-backed, his hands clasped behind him. June feels a rush of appreciation that Rick has attended, despite the fact that she hasn't. He hadn't known Melissa – not really – and it means something to her that he is there to pay his respects.

June wonders, as the black hearse pulls up, who arranged all this…Who chose the white lilies over another kind of flower? Who decided that the Lord's Prayer would be read out? Had it been Melissa's family…or had it been A.R.G.U.S? It is so quiet as they unload the coffin. June wishes she could hold Rick's hand – knows that she'd hold it so hard she'd probably crush it. But he's there and she's here, so June settles for biting down on her lip hard as she watched the small procession. It is easy to hear the eulogy. There's barely a whisper of wind and sound carries far. Listening closely, you can hear the traffic on a nearby street in the background.

June watches until the casket is lowered into the ground, and stays long enough to hear the first shovel of earth hit its oaken surface. The sound is surprisingly empty, and June grits her teeth against it. She walks away quickly – the other mourners not slow in leaving, either. No one wants to see a body buried.

* * *

"Why didn't you send me to Belle Reve?" June asks Amanda Waller, that afternoon.

Straight after the funeral, June had caught a cab to the army base where it was apparently business as usual – despite the fact that if a single _whisper_ of Melissa's fate had reached the press, they would have probably been shut down. It was strange. In these past two weeks, June's entire world had stopped turning. She'd stopped fighting. She'd quit her job. Everything had just felt…so pointless. But it seemed that, in direct contrast to her crisis of faith, A.R.G.U.S had found renewed vigour and motivation. The main building is bustling with men in lab coats and analysists. When June arrives, she can see soldiers forcing a hand-cuffed meta-human across the parking lot. Not Rick's men – a new unit, then. They must have expanded their operation.

Maybe it was a rare show of tact, but Amanda Waller had not demanded that June come in for her weekly lab tests since the dig. In fact, June had only seen the woman once – when she'd given June and Rick a direct number to call if the Enchantress did anything in retaliation. A panic button of sorts. June didn't know what they would do to the heart to make the witch stop, but it hadn't been necessary so far. In fact, it would have been easy – all things considered – for June to pretend that her life had not been touched by the supernatural. She had had no 'accidents' – only the dreams. Despite the fact that two weeks ago the witch had been strong enough to completely take over her body, June had seen neither hide nor hair of her – something that was making her antsy.

Because the Enchantress was still in there.

A.R.G.U.S had her heart and her plan to take back control had failed. Retaliation would come, and Rick and June would need that number…it was only a matter of timing.

But Amanda Waller – characteristically – looks unconcerned as she shows June round their new facilities. It seems that A.R.G.U.S is putting all its resources into the Enchantress. Not only had they built June a kind of impenetrable cage before the dig, but they had now designed new research labs in which to test the heart.

The heart itself (Waller has no concerns in showing her) resides in a bomb-proof briefcase that rarely leaves her side. June had been unable to look at it when Waller had popped the lid, jerking her head away. All her problems had started with that thing. She still wasn't happy that A.R.G.U.S had it – and still wasn't happy that she was now their puppet…but even June could now admit that Waller having the heart was a lot more preferable to the witch having it. Her stomach twists at the thought.

Waller smirks slightly at June's revulsion, but shuts the case anyway, sliding it off her desk smoothly.

"You said we would go to jail for the rest of our lives…so why didn't you send me to Belle Reve?" June repeats her question the moment the briefcase is out of sight. She can't quite believe she is here – just hours after Melissa's funeral – but something about her argument with Rick that morning had sparked something inside of her once more. Maybe it was the fact that she was more angry than sad now….needed someone to blame besides herself. Most of all, June needed answers.

"Why would we lock you up when we have the heart?" Waller returns, unblinkingly.

Something about the tone of her voice causes that spark inside of June to become a fire. Of course, to Waller, this was all about the god-damn heart. "Because I _committed a crime_ ," June says, her voice loud with disbelief. "I killed someone! I deserve to be punished like a normal person."

"Oh, you deserve that, do you?"

June recoils, though Waller has barely inflected her words with anything close to the kind of emotion she is displaying right now.

What _did_ June deserve? She knew what she wanted, but what she wanted and what she had earnt were two entirely different things.

"Let me tell you something Doctor Moone, you are not a normalperson. You never will be. It's time you accepted that."

"I killed her," June repeats, stubbornly - though her voice wavers. "And as a government official, you should have arrested me."

Waller gives a barely perceptible eye-roll. "….alright, how about this?" she says, brusquely, putting on a pair of reading glasses and pulling a large binder out of a draw in her desk as if she had planned this very conversation. She places it between them and June looks at the words emblazoned across the front in bright red: [ _CLASSIFIED]._ "I will offer you the same deal I offer all the inmates at Belle Reve…you can join a Task Force of some of the worst criminals we have and act in the interests of our government. They receive time off their prison sentence. I guess you can see this as a…recompense for your sins."

June tries to ignore the way the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end as she reaches for the folder. She _knew_ about this. She'd heard these words before. This is what Rick had found out about when he'd visited Belle Reve. His team had unanimously voted against joining the operation – he had been convinced that it was a bad idea.

… _."These people…you can offer them deals. You can manipulate them, but that is the only way you can deal with them. There isn't a 'better nature' to appeal to, June. They don't have a 'good side'."…_

She had said, then, that she believed he could do it. If there was anyone who could take a team of the worst convicts and turn them into better men, it was Rick. But June hadn't been thinking about _herself_ in this kind of situation.

Could _she_ do this?

She opens the binder at a random page, staring down at the mug-shot of a man who is more like a crocodile or a lizard than a human male. But it's not that that captures June's attention.

 _10 counts of murder. 15 counts of assault. Battery. 1 reported account of cannibalism._

 _Cannibalism_ …

Waller intently watches June flick through the folder, but does not speak. June swallows as she realises that not one person in these pages had less than three life terms in prison. All of them had used their enhanced abilities to commit the worst kind of crimes – crimes that made June sick to her stomach. She tries to picture herself working side by side with a team of murderers, but can't quite picture it.

 _But aren't you a killer, too_? Her mind taunts her, as she shuts the folder abruptly – not wanting to read anymore.

"They're criminals," she murmurs, looking up at Waller.

"Bad guys," the other woman agrees.

"I – I don't -…They'd…eat me alive."

The corner of Waller's mouth twitches as she looks at June, as if amused. Of course Waller's definition of funny would be throwing June to the sharks. "I think you're short-selling yourself," she scoffs, finally – adding before June can argue: "besides…this would all be the witch. Not you...you just have to say the magic words."

"You're so sure you can get her to co-operate?"

"We're going to keep her on a pretty tight leash. One wrong move, and I crush that heart," Waller promises, levelly. She and June share a long look, before June gives a fraction of a nod.

"Good," she replies. No-one was going to get hurt again because of the Enchantress. At least she and Amanda Waller could agree on that.

"…as for the team….I shot you at point-blank range in the head, Doctor Moone, and yet you are sat right across from me. Believe me when I say that you will be at the top of the food chain, here."

June shifts in her seat uncomfortably - unsure how she feels about that. She doesn't like it when people remind her of how strong the Enchantress is. She doesn't like being told that out of all the murderers and the liars and the thieves, _she_ is the worst of the worst. 'Top of the food chain', in this case, wasn't exactly a badge she'd wear with pride.

Waller scrutinises June closely before tapping a nail against the surface of the desk. "Take the folder," she says, sensing her hesitance. "Think about it."

"Really?" June asks, sceptically. This wasn't usually the kind of option she was given by A.R.G.U.S. The message was normally somewhere along the lines of 'comply, or we will blackmail you into compliance'.

But Waller just shrugs, leaning back in her chair. "Sure."

June waits for her to add something else, but she never does. She scoops the folder up into her arms.

"You're a smart woman. I trust that you won't leave that just lying around," the older woman tags on, looking at the binder. "The whole point of this is that it's secret. Covert. That information cannot get into the wrong hands."

June wonders privately what Waller thought the wrong hands for this kind of information was, because as far as she could tell, the Task Force probably breached a lot of ethical humanitarian laws. "I won't," she promises.

By the door, about to leave the office, June hesitates.

She has _never_ seen eye to eye with Waller - but at the same time, the woman had been there from the start. June may not like her methods, and she may not entirely like her, but there was something about her presence that June was beginning to get used to. There was an understanding there that she didn't have with many people in her life right now. Waller, doubtlessly, would guess where she stood on many of these issues. In turn, June could guess pretty well exactly how and why Waller would try and manipulate her.

"Melissa's funeral," she says, quietly. "Was that you who arranged it?"

Waller's gaze is impassive. "We had to make sure there were no loose ends with any of this."

"And the official story?"

"A collapse in one of the tunnels. A rock hit Miss Rodriguez on the head - killed her instantly. That's what we've told the Archaeological Institute and her family. That's what you'll tell anyone who asks."

June presses her tongue into her cheek, but makes no immediate answer. Eventually, she admits: "You know I can't remember any of it?" she asks, softly, still hovering in the doorway. "I can remember entering the temple, but everything after the tunnel….it's just black."

"- If you need to talk to someone about your feelings, I can book you in with one of our therapists," Waller cuts in, smoothly – the implication clear. _Time's up._

June shakes her head. "That's not necessary."

Waller just shrugs. "Then shut the door on your way out."

* * *

June hesitates when the cab drops her off back at her and Rick's house. She stands in the driveway for several minutes, clutching the binder to her chest.

Evening is falling, though the sun is still bright in the sky.

Rick had said that he loved her. The realization only hits June now. When he'd admitted it earlier, she hadn't been fully able to process the statement – there had only been room for the hurt and anger and bitterness. But despite herself, June feels her heart swell in her chest as she thinks about it. Rick _loved_ her. And not only that, but he had _admitted_ he loved her. She had had suspicions ever since they started to sleep together. Rick was an intense guy, and it was hard not to read layers of meaning into his actions. She'd tried hard to convince herself that she was _just_ a bed-warmer, or _just_ someone he was with because fate and crappy circumstances had thrown them together. But, really, June had always known that there was something _more_ there – she'd felt it, too.

She thinks back to how he'd said it. Him sat next to her on the bed. The words coming out awkwardly, but also with a strong sense of sureness. She hadn't responded how she should have – how she would have liked to. If he'd told her he loved her now, June would have kissed him. But it had all be too much to hear this morning…they'd never had great timing.

June sighs to herself, staring at the house still. She wonders if Rick is still angry at her. She'd pushed him away so far…only to find herself hours later pathetically craving his presence. Right now, all she wants to do was curl up on the coach next to him and rest her head against his shoulder – tangle her legs in with his. What was _wrong_ with her? She remembers how she'd recoiled away from him – spat and hissed at him like a scared animal lashing out. It felt like a different person – felt like a lifetime ago. She wishes she could take it all back and start today fresh.

Through the thin, white curtains drawn across the window, June catches a glimpse of a figure moving into the kitchen. She takes a deep breath and walks slowly – almost reluctantly – up the steps onto the front porch.

"Hi," she says, setting the binder down on the kitchen table.

Rick has his back turned to her, drinking milk straight from the carton out the fridge. He's a grazer, and it normally drives her crazy that he eats like a teenage boy. Sometimes she would come home and he'd have the weirdest combination of food from the cupboards gathered up into his arms. He's not a great cook, and June doubts he'd made a proper hot meal for himself more than a handful of times before she came along. For a man who prided himself on precision and exactness, he could sure be one hell of a pig sometimes. She almost smiles at the sight of him.

Rick turns, still clutching the milk carton. He's changed out of the black suit – thank God – and is now wearing a red T Shirt and sweatpants.

"Hey," he returns, screwing the lid back onto the carton. He watches her closely, but doesn't come any closer - as if she's about to scare and bolt at any minute. "How're you?"

June looks down at her feet. She's been gone the whole day after storming out of the house, and Rick's first response is to ask how she is, rather than asking her _where_ she'd been. "I went to the funeral," she tells him, quietly. "I couldn't…not the service. I just watched from the sidelines." He nods to himself and doesn't look surprised. June wonders if he'd seen her there, despite the fact that she'd done her best to stay out of sight. "I saw you went without me," she tags on, walking up to him hesitantly and taking his hand. It's much bigger than her own and warm. It's the physical contact she's wanted all day. "That means a lot."

"S'not a problem, June," Rick mutters.

She looks up at him, taking in the tired lines across his face. She reaches up and wraps her other hand round the back of his neck, wanting to give him the same comfort he so often provided her with. She scratches her nails slightly against the nape of his neck. "I love you," she tells him, honestly – knowing that it in no way makes up for what she has put him through since they got together. She wished he didn't have to go through so much pain and suffering to be with her, and meant what she'd said that morning. She wishes that he could have a normal life. "…so much," she adds, biting down on her lip like she's nervous. She wants to bridge this space she's created between them, but worries that it would be too hypocritical of her.

Rick lets out a slow exhale – almost a sigh – and leans forwards until his forehead rests against hers.

"I love you, too," he returns, his chest rumbling against hers.

She waits for the inevitable lecture. She waits for him to tell her that she's irrational, that she's too hard on herself. But it doesn't come. Rick seems content to just stand with her like this, and when June realises that he's not going to say anything more – doesn't _expect_ anything more of her. He'd told her once that she didn't always have to be okay with him, and the idea that she can feel her pain with out having to hide it paradoxically causes her to relax. She settles against him, letting her breath mingle with his own. He smells of chewing gum mint, cigarette smoke and something soft that she associates with their bed sheets. June breathes it all in.

"I love you," she repeats, softly, almost like a prayer.

Rick shifts and wraps his arms securely around her waist as June loops her other arm around his neck. The change in position brings their faces together at a different angle and June finds her lips hovering inches away from his own. Her eyes flicker to his amber ones, almost unsure. They haven't been physically intimate in over a week, and she'd given Rick little more than swift, chaste kisses on the lips. She can feel Rick's hands on the small of her back pulling her closer to him; feel her breathing deepen and hitch. He's completely still, waiting for her to make the first move.

June edges forwards across the infinitesimal distance between them and presses her lips to his. To begin with, the kiss is soft and lingering. She contents herself with old patterns and movements, familiarizing herself with the feel of his lips on hers. Her fingers knot in the longer strands of hair at the back of his neck, and she decides that she prefers it slightly longer.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles against his lips, pressing her mouth against his slightly harder. "For everything I said this morning."

To her surprise, one of Rick's hand threads in the bit of hair above her low bun, which is rapidly coming loose from its tight coil. "Don' worry about it," he mutters, burying his face in her exposed neck. June is surprised by the raw, needy quality to his voice and gasps when he sinks his teeth into the softest part of skin. She wasn't expecting this kind of response and as Rick tugs her closer towards him until there's not an ounce of space left between their bodies, she finds it increasingly hard to think straight.

June can feel his large hand run up her side as he continues the assault on her neck, sucking and licking until she's sure he's left more than a few marks. She gasps out loud again, pushing her hips flush against his again – her skin abruptly feeling too tight and warm for her body. June manages to evade Rick as he trails torturous slow, wet kisses up her throat, tilting her head out of the way so that she can capture his lips with her own. She subtly grinds her pelvis against his, and instantly feels Rick give a low growl by way of response.

Effortlessly, he picks her up by her hips as if she weighs nothing, and June loops her legs around his waist as Rick carries her across the room. She assumes he's making for the bedroom, but to her surprise, her back comes into contact with the hard surface of the table instead.

She's almost too far gone to hear the low _thump_ as Rick tugs her by her knees until he's nestled flush between her legs – but apparently he's not. June feels the exact moment Rick notices the binder that has fallen onto the floor, because his whole body instantly goes tense above hers.

"June," he asks, sharply – using his arms to prop himself up. "What the _fuck_ is that?"

* * *

 **A/N** Damn, even _I'm_ frustrated I had to interrupt Rick and June's sexy time.

As usual, thank you so much for all your reviews last chapter. I'm glad you guys can see how Melissa's death fits into the wider picture here. It's so much fun _finally_ introducing Task Force X properly into this, and June will be meeting a lot of the characters from the movie.

Also, the description of Rick eating was inspired by that scene where he's randomly eating a chicken wing in the hotel. I imagine that Rick's up-bringing was pretty spotty, and though he's very exact and cautious, he's also not particularly concerned about manners.

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	28. Chapter 28

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 28**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

"It's nothing," June murmurs to him, in what she clearly thinks is a reassuring tone. She draws his head back down, kissing him, and Rick gives in just a little bit. The moment he shuts his eyes, however, all he can see is the bright red lettering across the front of the folder.

 _CLASSIFIED._

That wasn't just 'nothing'.

Rick jerks his head away again, pushing himself off of June before she can distract him any further. She groans in frustration, but sits upright on the table all the same, watching as he picks the binder up off the floor. It's pretty weighty and Rick frowns to himself as he notes the A.R.G.U.S logo in the top right hand corner.

What the hell was June doing with top secret A.R.G.U.S information? She wasn't an employee, and even if she was, exactly when did Amanda Waller decide that June Moone was trustworthy? Because it must have happened sometime after June disobeyed explicit orders in Mexico and attempted to take the heart for herself.

"Rick –" June sighs, as he opens the file up to the first page, but she doesn't attempt to stop him.

Rick gets about a sentence in before he reads the words _Task Force X_ and his whole body goes cold. He thought he'd heard the last of this shit – apparently not.

"Why do you have this?" He looks up at June, confused as to what's happening here. Is this Waller once more not-so-subtly trying to manipulate him into leading her gang of thugs and criminals? Is this his punishment for going behind her back - not stopping June? If so, Rick fails to see how giving _June_ the folder provides her with any kind of leverage.

June pushes a few strands of hair that have come loose from her bun out of her face. "She wants me to join Task Force X."

It's quite possibly the last thing he expected her to say, and Rick stands for a moment, stunned. Completely blindsided. He knows he should have seen this coming: June was a powerful meta-human that could now be controlled...but _Task Force X_ represented everything June herself _wasn't_. " _She_?...What - _Waller?!"_

"Yeah."

His jaw clenches so tightly his teeth clack together. He looks at June, still in the black dress she'd put on for Melissa's funeral that morning. He was so sick of the games and the lies. He could handle Waller coming after him for the events at the temple, but like hell was she going to go after June. Not after everything she'd been through over the past month. His upper lip curls into a sneer. "Right," he mutters to himself, squaring his shoulders subconsciously. "…Right." And then he then he turns and hurls the stupid binder as hard as he can against their kitchen wall.

" _WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! –_ " June protests, her voice high and loud.

"I have _had_ it with Waller fuckin' with us!" he snarls at June, rounding on her. "If she thinks she can force you into this shit, she's got another thing comin' –"

Somehow, A.R.G.U.S has finally crossed a line in Rick's head that he didn't realise was there. He had driven June to the army base so they could run tests on her. He had allowed Waller to monitor her movement. He had even reported on June's status each day…but putting her in Task Force X was a step too far, even for Waller.

June, who is still sat on the table, visibly calms. "She's not forcing me to do anything," she replies, somewhat coolly. "…I'm considering joining."

"You're kidding?"

"No."

"Is she blackmailing you?"

" _No_."

Rick stares at June in disbelief. He knew that she had an innate ability to get under his skin – to surprise him even when he thinks he knows her, but this is insane. "Then what the hell?"

"I want to do this," June replies, simply. "And I need a job."

"So work at McDonalds," he snarls back, losing his patience. "This ain't a Saturday job, June. You know what the guys call it? The _Suicide_ Squad. You're…you're not getting involved in this," he says, half-laughing. If it wasn't June, he'd see the funny side of this. She could barely weigh more than a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet. She was skinny, with no training in combat or covert operations – more used to poring over books than shooting weapons. The contrast between her and a group of murderers and killers would be comical…except for the fact that it really wasn't.

"It wouldn't be me. It would be the Enchantress – who, as you full well know - can't be killed. A.R.G.U.S have the heart...they can control her. _I'd_ be perfectly safe," June returns, evenly, and Rick narrows his eyes. Her reply is too ready to be automatic. She's talked this through with Waller. How is it that he's somehow _always_ the last to know about shit?

"Yeah, but this is still _your_ body we're talkin' about," he replies, trying to reason with her. Chillingly, he remembers the time the witch has visited him in his dreams. _What happens to me, happens to her_ ….

"And I'm happy for it to be used in the interests of national security."

He scoffs, because that is _definitely_ an Amanda Waller line. June had fought so hard against becoming a puppet, and yet here she was – willingly becoming one. He rubs a hand down his face, trying to think. He can't believe June is actually serious about this – but at the same time, he shouldn't be surprised. She was always on some kind of mission or crusade – despite the events of the temple, June wouldn't have been able to remain directionless for long. It was just that Waller had harnessed that for her own means. That woman had always been too good at making the best out of other people's worst circumstances, and she had now figured out how to take a crazy witch hell-bent on world domination and turn it into damn fine lemonade.

"June…you haven't _seen_ these guys. They're scumbags! Low-lives…Deadshot – he's killed over seventy people!"

"I've told you that this isn't going to be _me_ , so I don't know what you're worried about."

" - I just don't understand why you have to do this - why can't you just do somethin' else?"

June's voice takes on a long-suffering tone. "Because there is a witch living inside of me who will be there for the rest of my life. We've been _through_ this. 'Normal' isn't an option for me anymore."

But all Rick can see is June being forced into war zones. _June_ being forced to go to places so dangerous, Waller wouldn't even dare send his own team there. "I'm sayin' no."

June frowns, predictably irritated. "Well you can't just say no just like that," she replies, testily.

"It's not goin' to happen."

"You're not –"

" – no because I tell you what's gonna happen," Rick interrupts. "If you sign up for this thing, that means I have to, too."

" _What_? Who said anything about _you_ having to join, too?! I thought you didn't want to – you said to me -"

"- I'm not just goin' to let you do this by yourself," he cuts across her, firmly.

June glares at him angrily. "That's unfair. You're twisting my arm."

"What, because you don' want to see me get hurt?" he guesses sardonically. "I cant imagine how that feels."

June takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm herself. "I'd like you to think about this," she says, trying to keep her voice level – a transparent dodge at answering his question. He smirks to himself.

" – I have thought about it –"

"No, you haven't. You're just saying 'no'."

"I'm saying we either do this together or you don' do it at all," he shoots back, folding his arms.

June presses her hands to her face to muffle a scream of frustration. "Rick, that is so _stupid_! You don't even _want_ to join the Task Force!" she snaps, wringing her hands.

"Yeah, well, things change when your girlfriend announces she's joining a team of criminals when she ain't so much as stolen a quarter from a phone booth."

June blushes, but doesn't argue. They both know she's an upstanding citizen and that her personal record is spotless.

"…look," Rick murmurs, cooling off slightly. He walks towards her, placing his hands on her shoulders. She stares up at him, her eyes large and blue. "At least do this for me: take a week to decide if this is what you really want. I'll take time off work – we can do somethin'…you don't need to be making this kind of decision now. Not today, at least." June glances down at her hands at the pointed reference to Melissa's funeral. She bites her lip before nodding.

"I can do that."

"Also –" she rolls her eyes as Rick continues, but he ploughs on, his expression becoming even more serious. "- I want you to come to Belle Reve with me an' see these lot in person. I want you to know what you're gettin' into before you agree to it."

He's reluctant for her to step foot inside the prison – especially after his still-unnerving dream in which he had seen _June_ in Harley Quinn's cage – but he had to do something to make June understand. The world that she lived in: neat and ordered and safe, was not the world she was about to enter. These people weren't like her. They didn't have hope. They didn't have values or beliefs. She hadn't encountered scum like this before. Rick knew that June thought she was making the right decision, but it was a woefully misinformed one. She was still so naïve of so many of the dangers.

At his second request, June visibly hesitates. He watches her swallow and compose herself. She's good at putting on a brave face – the best - and he knows she would have worn exactly the same determined expression had she gone through with this without properly thinking about it. Underneath that mask, however, he knows she would have been terrified – uncertain and unsure. He hates even thinking about it.

"Fine," she says, reluctantly. "One week - and I'll go to Belle Reve. But if I decide to go through with this, you're not going to stop me."

He glowers at her, radiating displeasure from his every pour, but eventually nods. "Fine," he bites out. June smirks to herself – as if _she's_ won the argument rather than him. Rick squints one eye, trying to figure out if she actually has.

She swings her legs either side of his, looking far too self-satisfied. "Good," she smiles, craning her neck and pecking him up on the lips. Rick makes a begrudging sound in the back of his throat.

"You know when I told you you had me wrapped round your li'l finger?" he asks.

"Mmm," June pretends to think, her nails scratching against the skin on his stomach between his sweatpants and t shirt. "Once upon a time."

"Still stands."

She rolls her eyes. "You make it sound like I can just order you around," she says – and he has to smirk at the way she sounds almost frustrated. "You're the most stubborn person I know, you know that?"

He simply shrugs. "I don' just give in an' give up."

" _Yeah_ , you don't," June replies, but this time she is grinning mischievously as she nips at his lower lip.

* * *

He takes her dress off almost roughly, pulling the thing over her head in one jerky movement. The bun is getting in the way, too, and Rick plucks out about ten bobby-pins that are keeping her hair up in its knot. The moment June's soft, brown-sugar hair falls down her back he plunges his fingers into the strands, holding on tight as he kisses her fiercely.

June's eyes are excited and bright with anticipation as Rick sloppily pushes her onto her back on the table. Both their movements are rushed – and Rick is painfully aware that he can't remember the last time they had sex. June wraps her arms and legs around him securely, tugging him in close to her. He fumbles to push down his pants whilst also trying to kiss her at the same time, their lips meeting in frantic, eager movements.

" _Come on_ –" June pleads, helping him by pushing her own underwear down to her knees and then kicking them off somewhere across the kitchen.

He forgets their arguments, and their great and growing list of problems. If he and June weren't able to move past things like this, their relationship wouldn't have survived. But somehow no matter how bad things get – hell, even if it's _her_ who's annoying him – they're still so much happier together than they are apart.

June spreads her legs wider as Rick pushes into her, moaning and arching her back as he completely buries himself inside her. It's the first time they've had sex in a room that isn't their bedroom – he had always been too worried about surveillance to do it with her anywhere else. But now they don't have to hide their relationship from anyone and this is _their_ house now. The feeling is liberating – as is the intoxicating sight of June completely naked beneath him in their kitchen.

The little, rickety table scrapes and screeches against the wooden flooring as he thrusts into her – becoming so loud that June eventually places her hands on his shoulders, laughing breathlessly.

"Stop – _stop_! I think you're going to break the table."

"We'll get a new one," he mutters distractedly, his hands still maintaining their iron grip on her hips – barely able to think straight through the haze of lust in his head.

" _Rick –_ " June protests, trying to sound severe as he attempts to move again.

He growls low in his throat, and she yelps as he easily picks her up, instead pinning her against the wall.

" _Oh my God_ –" June gasps - a sound of pure pleasure - as he slides back into her.

"Better?" he smirks at her, punctuating the word with a sharp thrust.

She can't answer.

He thinks he prefers this position – enjoys the intimacy of being able to look directly at her as he fucks her. June is unable to tear her gaze away from his, her eyes widening – reminding him vaguely of a deer caught in the headlights.

" _Oh_ -" He manages to get June to make every sound he's ever heard her make and a few new ones, too. Her back arches as she grows close and he lets go of her hip, pushing his hand up against the wall as he feels every one of his muscles tighten.

He doesn't look away from her as he comes, continuing to hold her gaze as he thrusts hard and erratically into her. June whimpers, quickly following suit. After, he lets her feet touch the ground once more. He gets the feeling that the only thing holding her up is his chest pinning her against the wall.

"Wow," she breathes out, finally, her flushed, warm skin pressed again his.

The corner of his mouth twitches as he looks down at her. The crown of her head just reaches his chin. "Was that good?"

She laughs. "That was good."

"Do I get a gold star?" he murmurs teasingly, moving his lips back to her throat – still wanting to taste and feel every inch of her skin.

"Shut up," she shoots back, rolling her eyes – the words ending in a loud yelp when he reaches round and pinches her on the ass.

* * *

Rick wakes up with June wrapped round him, as usual. She's like a human barnacle, and the first thing he's aware of is a large quantity of her mane of hair in his face. He mutters to himself, pushing the tangled mass more neatly off her face – exposing her peaceful, still-sleeping expression. June has one cheek pressed up against his chest and one arm flung out and wrapped around his shoulders.

It's not _un_ comfortable that she sleeps like this, but at the same time it also means that Rick can't move without waking her. He sighs, craning his neck to see the alarm clock as best he can without physically moving his torso. The bedroom is bright with sunlight and the clock reads ten in the morning – way past the time he normally woke at. He feels languid, even relaxed. Unusual when he often struggled to get more than five hours sleep a night.

He's contenting himself with listening to the quiet of the house when there's a distinct knock on the front door. He groans, looking at June and gingerly shifting her off of his body.

She half wakes up and looks up at him blearily as he shucks on a pair of sweatpants.

"What –?" she slurs, burying herself even further under the white covers. "…Where are you going?"

"Someone's at the door," he mutters, already heading out the room as there's a second knock. The hallway is too-bright, and he winces slightly as he pads through the house and pulls open the door.

The man on their porch is wearing a pristine, dark suit and is holding a briefcase made of some kind of rich-looking Italian leather. He looks like he should be working in some big city like New York or Washington, rather than standing on the steps of their tiny house in North Carolina. Rick squints at him, irritated.

"Can I help you?"

"Hi, my names Joe Palemero. I'm here with the paperwork to sign over this property to you. I was hired by Amanda Waller."

"It's ten in the morning," Rick returns, not budging from the doorway.

The man merely shrugs with an unmistakable asshole air of arrogance and entitlement. "This won't take long."

Rick looks at him for a long moment before sighing, stepping to one side. He really did want the deeds to the house, even if he's irritated that A.R.G.U.S have characteristically micromanaged the whole thing.

"Make yourself comfortable –" he mutters to the lawyer, pointing into the living room. It now looks far more homey than Rick remembers it looking when they first moved in. Gone is the ratty, flat leather couch and they've put in a large dark-wood bookshelf that holds a sizeable amount of June's books. The rest are still boxed away in the utility room.

In the bedroom Rick finds June pulling on her fluffy purple robe.

"Who is it?" she asks, curiously, attempting to tie her knotty hair up on top of her head in a haphazard ponytail.

"Lawyer," he grunts, pulling a grey hoody over his head. It has food stains on the front from a takeaway they'd had four nights ago, but he can't bring himself to care. He really didn't like unexpected surprises; even the good kind. "He's got the deeds to the house. Says we just got to sign a coupla' things."

But apparently signing over the house isn't all Joe Palemero is there for – something Rick should have probably figured the moment the guy said he'd been hired by Waller. When Rick and June have finished signing the deeds, the bald-headed man stoops to take a fresh wad of documents out of his apparently bottomless briefcase.

"What's this?" June asks, frowning and glancing up at Rick who is sat next to her on the couch.

"Official witness statements for you to sign covering Doctor Melissa Rodriguez's death, and new contracts of employment – for the both of you," he adds, criss-crossing his arms back and forth demonstratively. "They're the same, so it doesn't really matter which you take."

"What…an' just sign our souls over?" Rick asks, his voice positively dripping with sarcasm as he looks at the contracts being held out to them with disgust. He'd already signed employee paperwork when he'd initially started to work for A.R.G.U.S – he can't wait to find out what the upgraded stipulations entail…because something's telling him it's not better pay and more holiday.

"We're not signing anything without reading it first," June agrees, taking the stack of paperwork from the lawyer. She separates the witness statement (a single sheet of paper) from the contract (a wad of documents stapled together about fifty pages long) and begins to read through the contract. "…I understand that A.R.G.U.S will not be held liable for any of my actions. I understand A.R.G.U.S will not provide legal support should I be arrested whilst on a mission. I understand that I am not to refer to A.R.G.U.S as an employer, benefactor, or in any other terms that would infer third-party responsibility or involvement in a court of law– " she breaks off, looking up at the lawyer with incredulity.

"Yeah," he says, registering the expression on June's face with apparent nonchalance, "it's not exactly a get-out-of-jail-free-card."

"She's not entitled to a defence?" Rick grinds out, his eyes narrowing. He's pretty much got the size of Palemero guy just from looking at him. He's too slick, and the breadth of his shoulders tells Rick that he spends a lot of time preening at the gym – he looks like he should be a defence lawyer for divorcing celebrities rather than a lawyer-for-hire contracted to A.R.G.U.S. "Isn't that written in the Constitution or somethin'?"

"I got two words for the both of you:" Palemero replies, holding a first then second finger up. "Top. Secret. C'mon, Colonel, you're Special Forces…you know how this goes."

"But June's not."

"Look – we'll sign the witness statements," June interrupts, placatingly. She's probably noticed the vein pulsing in Rick's forehead. "But we're not signing these contracts. I may be joining Task Force X –"

His left eye twitches.

" - but I'm not one of Amanda Waller's criminals. Meta-human or not, I am a citizen of the United States and I have rights. You can go ahead and tell her that," she adds, coolly, pushing the contract back across the table to Palemero, who sighs.

"Look, it's no deal, no dice. They ain't gonna let the pair of you on board unless you sign this thing."

"All the more reason not to fuckin' sign it, then," Rick mutters, leaning back on the sofa and draping his arm across the back of it. He's about 99% done, and close to throwing this sleeze-bag out of _his_ house.

Predictably, June ignores him, adjusting the tie on her fluffy robe as she says, simply: "Well, Waller's just going to have to learn how to trust us."

Rick snorts and even Palemero looks sceptical. "Yeah, good luck with that sweetheart," he says, scooping the contracts back up. "You're talking to one of the few people who knows what _really_ happened in Mexico…" he spreads his hands, looking between them both. "I can go back to her, see if I can get a different deal drawn up – but this is probably the best you're going to get."

"Listen, we don't need no stank-ass lawyer fighting our battles for us -" Rick replies, his voice dangerously level. Next to him, June sighs but doesn't interrupt. "So you can get out."

He watches the other man unblinkingly until he picks up his briefcase and the damn contracts and heads out the door.

June leans back on the sofa next to Rick, pulling her feet up onto the couch. "You could have been a bit nicer," she tells him, though she doesn't really sound like she means it. Rick rolls his eyes.

"I told you," he grinds out. "I've had it with A.R.G.U.S messing with us."

"I know," she murmurs, nestling her head into the crook of his shoulder. The frown on her face deepens. "Even for them…those contracts are pretty bad. If I got caught, I wouldn't even have the right to a trial."

He raises an eyebrow, tilting his head to look down at her better. "Havin' second thoughts?" he asks, not even bothering to hide the transparent hopefulness of his question.

She bites her lip. "I don't know…but like you said, it's about having all the information, right? Making a decision based on knowing what you're getting into. I think I'm beginning to figure it out."

He nods, toying with a few strands of her hair as he stares across the room, thinking. "The rest of the guys on this Task Force, they're doin' this just because it gets them out of jail time. But you're not in prison, June. You'd be choosing this, and you'd be choosing to do this for a reason." He glances at her, his gaze flicking to and arresting her own. "When this week is over, you better be able to give me a damn reason if you say yes."

"And you?"

"Huh?"

"You'd be signing up, too, remember? Or did you forget that ultimatum," she reminds him, somewhat sarcastically.

Rick shakes his head. "Nah," he mutters, quietly. "I don't have a choice in all this. You do this, I do this."

Her brow furrows slightly. "You know it doesn't have to be that black-and-white," she tells him, softly.

But she doesn't understand how deep the need goes to protect and defend her. Rick would step in front of a bullet for June – lay down his life for her. The fact that she thinks that she can sign up for the Suicide Squad and not think he'd follow her is laughable.

"I know," he shrugs, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

They're quiet for several minutes – both sat on the couch in little more than pajamas. Things could almost be normal, except they weren't. After a while June shakes her head, glancing out to the front door.

"…Seriously, though?" she mumbles, wrinkling her nose. "That lawyer was _such_ an asshole."

Rick snorts to himself.

* * *

 **A/N** I loved writing this chapter so much. No matter how much Rick and June fight, they're a team and they do things together (even if that might drive June a little crazy sometimes.) I can't wait to write her interacting with some of the Squad members, too (and also Rick's inevitable over-protectiveness ;)

Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed last chapter!

Please remember to **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N** Sorry this is a little late. Chapter 28 exhausted my bank of chapters that I had pre-written for this story, so now I am writing as I go along. I hope you will forgive the less regular updates. I hope everyone enjoyed Halowe'en and that this is a welcome distraction to all the crazy election stuff going on right now.

Also I went back through and I re-read the whole of this story myself. Normally I hate reading back through my own writing because I spot so many things I would have done differently, but I haven't thought that about this fic so far which is nice.

* * *

 **WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 29**

* * *

 _ **June**_

Just because A.R.G.U.S now controls the Enchantress, does not mean that the witch is gone. More than ever before, June is aware that a separate entity is inside of her. One that is malicious and threatening: one that had used and abused her. Killed her friend. Manipulated her for months. Sometimes she is terrified to sleep at night, because it is in her dreams that the Enchantress dares to show herself, knowing full-well that Waller will not see emotional torment as grounds to use the heart.

In the memory, the Enchantress is sat on a thick, stone throne interlaced with gold next to a regal-looking seat of equal splendour. The chamber she sits in is huge…June recognises the high, narrow windows and realises that this is the hall they climbed into. Great pillars hold up the ceiling, which is as high as a city skyscraper; the stone carved with the most intricate drawings. Packed to the sides stand rows upon rows of people in order of rank. The rich first, then the soldiers – the peasants craning at the top of the steps to see inside.

Stood in front of the Enchantress are a group of six men, all in robes of varying colours and richness. When one of them steps forward to speak, the chamber abruptly quietens. The silence seems to echo off of the walls – thick with anticipation. June wonders what it is they are all waiting for.

She thinks she can detect a flicker of unease in the Enchatress's impassive face, though she continues to sit proudly on her throne.

"The Emperor has decided, Enchantress," the man announces – thickly accented and loud enough for most to hear. "Yoatl and his people will be destroyed."

There is an automatic eruption of cheers and bellows. The soldiers thump their shields with the club-like end of their swords – adding to the din.

"They will be wiped off of the face of the earth by your divine power…" the man continues, his face strained as he shouts – more for his audience than for Dzmor. "…Pay for the lives they have taken. These savages with no honour. These _barbarians_!"

Another roar of agreement. Dzmor's fingers clench the arms of her throne so tightly June can see the whites of her knuckles. Though her skin is a copper tan, June notices that it has abruptly lost its colour – become almost sallow. Her eyes dart over the hundreds of people sharply, searching each face for something. Or maybe she is looking for her closest exit.

"The Enchantress will crush them like the insects they are! There will be no warning – no mercy – only DEATH _!"_

Enraged, impassioned cries from the crowd. Peasants and soldiers and rich alike. Men and women.

The Enchantress stands from her seat, but for once they take no notice of her. She strides down the steps towards the man who has spoken – muttering something under her breath to him urgently. He shakes his head emphatically, and her voice becomes more desperate – louder, so that June can hear it over the yelling.

" _I will not_ ," she is snapping, to the small, troubled group of men. " _You cannot make me_ –!"

"The Emperor has decided –"

" _I DO NOT CARE_!" she shrieks suddenly, and the sound echoes inhumanly loudly around the temple, drowning out every yell and every voice like a living thing. The crowd duck, as if a large dragon has flown overhead. Colour is building back up in Dzmor's face. She seems so furious that her control begins to slip with each passing moment. Whatever glamour had given her her regal beauty begins to fade – her thick hair turns lank, her shining skin dirty. Insidious, the black begins to swirl about her and the people begin to shift uneasily. " _I am not his toy to play with! I am a God_!" Her voice echoes through the room as if reverberating through hundreds of different dimensions.

But the man merely looks at her calmly, unfazed by the sudden change. He claps his hands once and a slave carries out a familiar looking wooden box – although it is far less dustier than the last time June saw it. Inside is the heart, and the man holds it in the palm of his hand.

"You will do this," he tells Dzmor, "because you serve the people. Or you will do this because we will kill you, otherwise. It is your choice….Princess…would you really leave your city to be plagued by the barbarians. Would you really leave our crops to be burned? Our women to be raped? Children to be orphaned?"

The Enchantress's face is drawn to the point that she almost looks ill and June notices that she has become more animal-like – her shoulders hunched, her lip curling. She looks smaller, somehow. The on-lookers are beginning to murmur among themselves – clearly surprised by her reluctance. June wonders if this is the first time the witch has denied an explicit request. Accidentally shown the human beneath the deity.

She wets her lips, her eyes darting about the room one last time before her head gives a jerky, imperceptible nod. Like a puppet string being pulled, the Enchantress raises both arms and shuts her eyes in concentration. June stares, realising that an entire group of people are about to be destroyed _now_ –

But the dream fuzzes and shifts in a swirl of neon colour. No longer a memory, but a thought. June is abruptly seeing a raging, gusting cloud of blackness ripping through the modern city of Charlotte with the force of ten hurricanes. Skyscrapers shatter into a million shards of glass and debris crushes houses. People run and scream, but it is over in almost seconds, leaving nothing but a burnt, charred swathe of land where thousands of people had stood and been alive but moments ago.

June wakes sharply – feeling stick to her stomach. She finds herself in bed next to Rick, tangled up in their bed sheets. Her heart is thundering wildly in her chest and she can already feel the adrenaline and shock bringing tears to her eyes. It takes several moments to realise that it hadn't been _real_ – that she had not just witnessed an entire city levelled.

June heads for the bathroom as quickly and silently as she can without waking Rick, taking deep gulps of air as she tries to force down what is possibly a panic attack. In the bathroom, however, the light switch won't work and in the middle of the night it is pitch black.

" _No_ –" June moans to herself, almost a whimper as she whirls round to address the empty darkness. " _Stop it – just stop it_ – Go away! Leave me alone!"

The mirror is the only glinting source of light in the black – the reflective surface showing June's darkened silhouette. As she walks closer to the cabinet, she can make out her individual features more clearly.

Or, at least, someone's features.

She can see dark, stringy hair and huge black eyes. It isn't until June stops moving that she feels a chill run over her skin. Experimentally, she raises one hand.

So does the Enchantress.

Clenching her fingers into a fist, June jerks her arm back to her side and leans in close, trying to ignore the way her entire body is trembling.

" _Get out of my head,"_ she hisses. But the reflection of the Enchantress just echoes her words back to her perfectly and June has to physically restrain herself from smashing her fist against the mirror. This wasn't real, either. This was like the dream – just mind games.

She forces herself to shut her eyes and breathe deeply through her nose. Waller had the heart. The Enchantress couldn't control her unless June let her in. June was stronger – and she wasn't naïve enough to feel something like sympathy anymore.

 _One. Two. Three._

She counts each breath and then opens her eyes to see her own, wide-eyed reflection staring back at her. With held breath, June tries the light switch, and the whole bathroom is instantly bathed in a reassuring, golden glow. She can't decide if she dreamt most of this or if it all really happened, but June feels distinctly unnerved as she splashes cold water onto her face, trying to wake herself up.

The message was clear: the Enchantress was still inside of her. Alive and kicking.

Too awake to fall back asleep, June pads down the hallway and quietly opens and closes the front door. The automatic light hanging on the front porch clicks into life the moment it senses her presence, and June settles down into one of the rickety camping chairs breathing in the fresh air. It is warm enough that even in a T Shirt and pajama pants, she doesn't feel cold.

The night feels large and vast and empty. June sits quietly and after several moments the light clicks off again. She feels lonely; despite knowing that Rick is stretched out in their bed…that she could curl up beneath the covers next to his warm body. The fact of it was that June couldn't talk to Rick about everything. Just like he couldn't talk to her about things. She didn't _want_ to wake Rick up and tell him she'd just had another Enchantress memory. She didn't want to assess and analyse with him what it could mean – mainly because Rick wouldn't _want_ to assess and analyse it. He'd just get angry and worried and cranky.

No, the person June had normally gone to with this kind of thing was Melissa. And Melissa was dead.

June had been wholly unprepared for the hole her death would leave in her life. She hadn't realised how narrow the list of people she could trust and confide had become since it had shrunk even further. Her family had no idea what was going on with her. Neither did the majority of her work colleagues or her old acquaintances from college. June had _needed_ that friend – that confidant. Someone who thought the way she did and was always on her team – even if Melissa's advice had usually been accompanied by some snarky remark and an eye-roll.

June hadn't had to stress about worrying Melissa in the same way she stressed about worrying Rick. She hadn't had to constantly feel like she was justifying herself and her decisions; sometimes talking to Rick could be so exhausting.

June heaves in a deep breath, tucking her feet up underneath her body to warm her toes up. The movement causes the light to flicker back on again.

All the guilt and pain and sadness aside, June _missed_ having a friend she could trust. She missed walking into her office at the Archaeological Institute in the mornings and talking to her old mentor – hadn't realised how much she had valued that time until it was gone. It wasn't exactly like June could send off a quick Facebook message to someone like Becca, asking to talk about A.R.G.U.S and dead witches and magic when she was honeymooning in Hawaii. The thought is almost laughable.

June leans her head back far enough that she can look up at the stars in the night sky. She tries not to imagine the Enchantress looking through her eyes at the same stars. The same sky. She tries not to imagine everything around her gone; destroyed by the same, black sandstorm she'd seen in her dream.

If June is being honest with herself, part of the reason she wanted to join _Task Force X_ had nothing to do with feeling guilty about Melissa's death and everything to do with feeling lonely. Having a dead witch inside of her limited her career opportunities and a chance to do something in a team – even a team of criminals – would give June the chance to feel _part_ of something that she so craved. It gave her the goal she needed. It gave her something to fight for and believe in.

June just wasn't quite sure those reasons would fly with Rick.

* * *

"I had another memory last night. They're not going away."

It's not Rick that June is talking to, but Amanda Waller – over the phone. She's a crappy substitute for Melissa, and it shows just how pathetic June's situation has become that the head of A.R.G.U.S is now her first port of call in these kind of situations. She knuckles her forehead, sitting at the kitchen table – somehow feeling like she's arguing over insurance premiums. Rick is in the shower and June doesn't have much time.

"What was it about?" Waller replies, calmly.

"…the heart. After she gave it to her people, they forced her to kill another tribe."

"How many people?"

"I'm not sure."

"But she could kill them all?"

June doesn't like that Waller now sounds interested. The bored, dry tone is still there – but now with a spark of something else. June's stomach still feels queasy after her dream, and it gives a sickening wrench at Waller's words.

"I guess…can you…can you not do something about these dreams?"

"…Such as?"

June winces despite herself. "I don't know. Do something to the heart. Make her stop."

There's a pause and a low mumur on the other end of the line. June wonders who Waller is with. "This is within her normal parameters of behaviour," she replies, eventually. "We said that the heart would only be used in extreme circumstances."

June can't quite believe 'normal' in her life now encompasses memories reaching back thousands of years and witnessing the destruction of an entire community. "But she's angry."

Waller is calm – even indifferent. "She can't step out of line. This is all bark and no bite."

"Try telling me that when _you_ experience a seven-thousand-year-old witch taking over your body."

"If you can't handle this –"

"I _can_ handle it."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

June's hand reflexively tightens round the phone in frustration and she takes a deep breath. "…nothing," she replies, as she hears the bathroom door open down the hallway. "Forget I said anything."

She thinks she can physically hear Waller roll her eyes. "Fine –"

"Wait -!" June protests, as the other woman moves to hang up the phone. "…I need to ask you something."

"I am a _very_ busy woman Doctor Moone."

"I want to see my parents. As soon as possible."

"I'm not hearing a question."

But June thinks the other woman has a pretty good idea as to what she's going to ask. "I…I'd like your permission."

"To fly to Florida? You are, as you keep reminding me, a free woman and this is a free country."

"I want to tell them about me."

"And I distinctly remember that folder I gave you being _classified_."

"…not about the Task Force…just about the Enchantress." June pauses, swallowing. "Please, they have a right to know. This is going to be for the rest of my life and they're my family."

She holds her breath, waiting for Waller's response…wondering how much humanity is left in this woman. June thinks of the purple orchid on Waller's window-sill no matter where her office happens to be.

The reply she gives June is brusque, and Waller hangs up the phone immediately afterwards. "Take your boyfriend with you," she says, her voice rich with amused sarcasm - and it somehow takes a moment for June to reconcile 'boyfriend' with _Rick_ , who she can hear moving around in the back of the house. Maybe it's because she hasn't heard Waller refer to their relationship in more than cryptic hints until now. "I suppose it's time he met his future in-laws."

* * *

June pokes at the meal dubiously with her plastic fork.

The aeroplane is small – barely large enough to accommodate more than twenty passengers – and cramped. Rick is lent back in his seat with his arms folded, his long legs stretched out into the isle. He doesn't even bother to move them as people move back and forth from the tiny toilet cubicle at the front of the plane; June isn't sure that he physically can. His head almost touches the ceiling.

It's their interconnecting flight from Miami to the Keys and it can't be more than twenty minutes until they land. If June were to look out of her window, she would see rich, blue ocean stretched out beneath her. She's too busy toying with her crappy, indistinct looking lunch that the airhostess had bought out, however, to so much as glance at the scenery.

"You alright," Rick asks huskily, shifting slightly in his seat.

June sets her fork down, giving up on her lunch. She's surprised by the jittery nerves that are causing her stomach to do somersaults. Her palms feel sweaty. "Mmm," she nods.

After a while, however, June glances at him. If she's being honest with herself, she's more anxious about telling her family about _Rick_ than telling them about the whole Enchantress business. For the first time, she'd practically dressed Rick herself – something he had found mildly irritating but mostly very amusing as she had rifled with mounting exasperation through his draws.

Seeing her stress, Rick had attempted to make a few suggestions – predictably pointing from where he lay stretched out on their bed to the dark bomber jacket he always wore that she'd discarded into her 'no' pile on the floor. "What's wrong with that?"

"The whole point is that I'm trying to make it look like you _don't_ kick doors down for a living," June had snapped. Also, if she was being honest, the jacket was too intimidating…too _military_. She wanted her parents to like him and trust him…needed something that would make Rick more like a boyfriend than a bodyguard. It wasn't exactly like June could dress him in a shirt, either. Though summer was drawing to a close, Florida would still be hot and sticky with humidity.

In the end, she had managed to dig out a loose Henley top in amongst his hoodies and baggy sweatshirts. He looked good in it, and far more relaxed than she felt.

With each passing minute, June began to feel more and more nervous. Her Mom and Dad had agreed to pick her up from the airport, but she hadn't told them that Rick would be with her – and she was beginning to wish she had at least warned them. They had had no idea Rick even existed, yet alone that their daughter had spent the past four months _living_ with him.

June makes a pained sound in the back of her throat and Rick throws her a look. "What am I doing?" she appeals to him.

He rolls his eyes. "This was your idea."

"…my Mom's going to completely freak out."

Intuitively, Rick seems to guess what's on her mind and the corner of his mouth quirks. "About me or the witch?"

"This isn't funny."

"Never said it was."

She looks up at him, a little exasperated. "Aren't _you_ nervous? You're…about to meet my parents. This is a big step for…you know… _us_."

"Huge," Rick agrees, calmly – but catches the look on June's face. "Look, June, what's wrong? Are your folks super Catholic or traditional or somethin'? They're not goin' to go ballistic and get me to put a ring on you because we've been doin' it out of wed-lock?"

"You're hilarious," she gripes.

Rick turns his neck to look at June properly – catching her just as she tries to turn away from him. "Okay – do they love you?"

"Yes."

"- then you're good."

She takes a deep breath, feeling the basic truth of Rick's statement. No matter what her parent's initial responses would be, they _did_ love her and would come round eventually. She just couldn't bare the idea of their initial hurt and disappointment. The realisation that their daughter had been living a double life for months…had been in danger without them knowing. That she was no longer living in the apartment they thought she was living in. Had quit the job they assumed she was currently working at. June's whole life had changed…and they had no idea.

June reaches up and places her hand on Rick's face. "Well that top looks good on you, so there's that," she teases him, lightly. The physical contact of her hand against his skin causes a rush of affection to well up inside of her, briefly stilling the butterflies in her stomach.

"Oh yeah?" Rick asks, raising both eyebrows – and June has to grin at the way he abruptly looks very smug.

"Very handsome," she reassures him.

He rolls his eyes. "Do me a favour and don' tell the guys that you dressed me."

" _Please_ , if I hadn't picked that out for you, you'd be sat here in uniform…You know, when you try you can actually look very charming…"

"Uhuh," he says, dryly. "As opposed to what? Lookin' like I normally do?"

"Well you don't –"

But as June speaks the pilot's voice crackles over the comm, telling them that they are about to land. Reflexively, she looks out of her window to see a chain of islands stretched out beneath them. Her heart skips a beat.

They touch down, and June and Rick filter off of the plane in amongst the crowd of cheerful tourists who wear their Hawaiian print shirts and sandals seemingly un-ironically. Tall palm trees fringe the tiny run-way and the sky stretches bright and blue overhead. If June could have deliberately chosen a place to forget all her problems, her childhood home would have been a pretty good decision.

June immediately spots her parents in the arrivals lounge, and her stomach gives another sickening lurch. Physically, at least, they have not changed in the months since she has last seen them. Both in their early fifties, June's parents seem to exude a kind of contentness with life. They are dressed casually – her mother in a loose pair of trousers and shirt – her father's sunglasses pushed up on top of his head. It is clear as June approaches them that they have noticed the tall man walking close enough to their daughter to realise that he is not simply another passenger. Catching their puzzled expressions, June reflexively reaches out and grabs Rick's hand.

"Easy –" he mutters in her ear, as if she's some kind of startled horse.

But June ignores him, forcing a smile onto her face despite her pounding heart. To date, it is one of the most bizarre situations she has ever been in – which says a lot.

"Hi, honey!" her mother beams – albeit, looking slightly strained as she reaches forwards to embrace her daughter. "How was the flight -?" Typically, Miranda is too polite to out-right question what is going on, though confusion is written all over her face.

June's father is normally just as tactful, which is why she cringes when he bluntly demands: "Who the hell is this?" He looks from June – who is busy trying to unwrap herself from her mother's clutches - to Rick and then to their still-clasped hands. June can't quite tell if he's angry or merely stunned.

"Dad –" she starts, wondering how on earth to come out with a semblance of an explanation. But she's never been so lost for words before in her life.

"Rick Flag, sir. I'm – er – goin' out with your daughter."

June almost smiles. For all of Rick's bravado, there's a slight hesitation in his gravelly voice that shows that he's not quite as cool-headed as he'd like her to think. He reaches out a hand for her Dad to shake, but he simply ignores it – looking straight at June severely. She immediately feels sixteen instead of twenty-six.

"Why is this the first time I'm hearing about this?"

"Oh, Scott, don't be like that -" her mother effectively censures. "Not now – it's real nice to meet you, Rick," she smiles broadly, reaching up and hugging him – an action made difficult by the fact that Rick is a good foot taller than June's mother. The Moone family matriarch shoots June a significant look. "…I'm sure there's a story behind all this that I am just _dying_ to hear."

June shares a glance with Rick, and she can tell that they are both thinking the same thing. She didn't think her mother would be able to guess even in her wildest dreams as to what that story was.

Her Dad drives them home in his old truck – the trunk of which is still littered with fishing nets and the odd oar. From the front seat, June's mother continues to speculate.

"So, did you two meet through work?"

June resists the urge to sigh loudly. "Mom…maybe this should just wait until we get home."

"Well, alright – but you know I'm kind of curious because –"

" – I know you are – and trust me, I know how strange this has to be for you and Dad -"

" – strange? We barely hear from you for months and then you show up with a – a – some man we haven't heard about before! No offense, Rick," her father adds, glancing at the pair of them in the rear-view mirror, though his voice is still acerbic. "I'm sure you're just a real stellar guy and everything, but June, this is pushing it – even for you –"

"Even for me?" June interjects, feeling her face floor with mortified anger that her Dad has the audacity to say all this in front of Rick. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Well you go flying off here there an' everywhere an' we don't know where you are –"

June grips the headrest in front of her and leans forwards in between her parent's seats so as to better glare at her father. "Dad, how many times do I have to tell you there is a perfectly good reason for all of this?!"

"Oh good. There's a reason," her father rolls his eyes, not looking at her under the pretext of glancing left and right before he pulls out of a junction. "You know, I was just beginning to think you did this kinda thing 'cause you liked scaring your mother –"

"I'm a meta-human."

Luckily, her father keeps driving, but June sees the shock that freezes his face. Next to her, Rick looks slightly bemused, as if he's somehow wondering how he had wound up in the middle of a family argument in the back of her father's truck.

"… _what_?" her mother's voice sounds breathy with surprise and her eyes are slightly unfocused.

"A meta-human."

"What?...Since _when_?" June's father twists his head to look at her briefly over his shoulder. "When the hell did this happen?" he demands.

"Four months ago…when I want on that hike in Mexico –"

" – I don't understand –" her mother attempts - confused - and June leans back into her seat next to Rick's.

"Mom, I told you it was a long story."

Finally, her parents fall silent at the front of the car and there is blissful quiet. June shifts herself close enough to Rick that their shoulders touch, needing the physical comfort but not wanting to risk holding his hand when her Dad was being so prickly.

Abruptly, her father's expression becomes horrified as something clearly dawns on him. He twists in his seat again, and June wishes that she'd waited until they'd got home to drop the bomb shell. At this rate, they were going to crash the car. "Hang on - he's not one too –?"

"Honey, will you keep your _eyes on where you're going? Honestly!_ " June's mother protests, sounding exasperated.

"What can you do? Shoot fire out of his eyeballs?"

"Actually, I am 100% human," Rick interjects, raising both eyebrows.

"Oh. Good." Somehow, her father still manages to make it sound slightly sarcastic. June has the feeling he's not going to calm down any time soon. She's rarely seen him so belligerent or openly antagonistic and she knows it's because he doesn't know how to deal with all this new information and doesn't quite understand the world of meta-humans. For her parents, this was only ever something that had been on TV. Still, June can't help but bite her lip to prevent her from snapping at him to shut up. Her parents were well within their rights to be angry at _her_ …but not with Rick. If she'd known what she would be getting him into, she never would have suggested he come along.

The rest of the journey home really is in silence.

They pull up at June's house and she can't help the small smile that touches her lips as she takes in the high hedges, sandy grass and messy yard. This is where she and Rick first met…though she wasn't about to tell her parents that. If they realised that he'd come onto their property and all but taken her to a US army facility, her Dad really would come at Rick with a baseball bat. June remembers turning around and seeing him standing on their little beach – aloof and indifferent in his black sunglasses; looking every inch the mysterious Special Forces soldier. Who would have guessed then that she would bring him back to her home as her boyfriend?

Who would have guessed she would live with him? Gradually peel away the layers of his armour to reveal the perfectly normal man beneath – no longer a soldier or an agent or a killer, but a man she had actually fallen in love with?

"If my parents ask," she mutters to him under her breath as they sling their bags out of the back of the truck. "You've never been here before."

Rick glances at her father who is standing at the top of the wooden steps leading to the front door of the house, tapping his foot impatiently and staring at the two of them with downright suspicion. "Good thinkin'," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching.

"I'm sorry that my Dad's being so…" she begins apologetically before pausing, trying to think of the right word. "This is just new for both of them – the whole meta-human thing. They won't have ever heard of A.R.G.U.S."

Rick sighs, tangling a hand momentarily in the hair at the nape of her neck – somehow intuitively guessing that out of the pair of them it's _her_ that needs the reassurance. "Its okay, June. I know. You'll be fine."

She's not so sure. "I've barely sold them on the whole meta-human thing and I've still got to tell them about the Enchantress and Waller and the crazy _woooo_ –" she makes a gesture with her fingers, insinuating magic.

"Guess it's a good thing information about the Task Force is classified then," he smirks.

"Oh yeah," June agrees. "I tell my Dad we're thinking about joining a group of criminals and he really _will_ kill you."

* * *

 **A/N** Again, sorry for the delay in updating. I had so much fun writing June's parent's responses (and also that little dig from Waller about Rick. I love it when she makes comments about Rick and June's relationship.) I'm blown away that you guys think that last chapter was the best one I've written. So far into a story as long as this one, that's really excellent to hear. I know every chapter cannot be the best, but I hope you enjoyed this one, too.

Thank you to all my readers who continue to support and review this story. I'm looking forward to the release of the Suicide Squad DVD so I can see all those deleted scenes from the trailers (because SO many were cut?!)

As always, please remember to **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	30. Chapter 30

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 30**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

For all of June's nerves, Rick is interested to meet June's parents. He wants to see what kind of people have raised her; see who produced this willful, curious, stubborn and idealistic woman he has fallen in love with.

Within about five minutes of meeting Scott and Miranda Moone, Rick can already see some of June's most prominent character traits in her parents. Her mother makes the same sound June does when she's annoyed. Her Dad is also clearly one who is not used to hearing the words 'no'. The argument in the car is pretty amusing in that pieces of June he hadn't understood before seem to clink into place with abrupt clarity.

When her father sarcastically shoots back: "Oh. Good," after Rick certifies his human status – sounding anything but over-joyed - Rick has to fight back a smirk. He's been on the receiving end of more than a few of June's own sarcastic remarks.

The journey through the small touristy towns reminds Rick why he hadn't enjoyed being posted out in the Keys at the beginning of the year. Sure, he can see why June loves it: the mango trees, the lush, blue ocean – the laid back, relaxed atmosphere – but to him everything is too swampy and too close to the ground. It's fall, but there's not an orange leaf in sight; just a claustrophobic humidity. He far prefers the mountainous countryside of North Carolina, where the grass will be browning and the leaves turning gold.

He watches June standing outside with her family from the Moone's cluttered family kitchen. Everything in the house seems to be in some state of disorder, adding to the general impression of hominess. His own mother had always been OCD about cleaning, and they had never had enough money to own much ' _stuff_ ', either, but here there are stacks of books and DVDs on the coffee table. The front of the fridge is a patchwork of magnets, old calendars and photographs. June and her parents are on the decking – reached by a sliding door out of the kitchen.

Rick keeps half an eye on them whilst trying to pretend he isn't watching. They've been outside almost an hour now, and even through the thick glass he had been able to hear raised voices frequently. At one point June's mother had covered her mouth –obviously crying - and Rick had watched Scott Moone reach out and rub his wife's back consolingly.

He figured finding out your daughter had been possessed for the past four months of her life had to be hard. Not to mention the fact that June had been shot in the head and had died for all of a minute, though he's guessing she's left that part out. Rick swallows and watches as the conversation seems to finally reach a lull; June and her parents framed by the ocean and a greying sky. Evening is close to falling, and the wind has picked up ever so slightly, blowing strands of hair about June's face.

To Rick's surprise, there's a scraping sound as the sliding door opens and Scott Moone pokes his head in.

"Rick?" he asks, gruffly. "Can you come outside a sec? Miranda and I want a word with you and June together."

Rick coughs, and folds his arms, trying to hide the fact that he's been semi-spying on them by nonchalantly picking up a book from the coffee table. _101 Knitting Patterns._ Next to it is a brightly coloured crochet blanket only half-finished. He puts the book back down.

"Er – yeah – sure –"

Scott merely stands to one side as Rick ducks the low doorway and steps out of the kitchen and onto the decking. The older man's eyes are fixed on his face intently, though it's hard to tell what he's thinking.

June smiles slightly at him as he stands next to her – the two of them unconsciously pairing up against Miranda and Scott. June looks slightly pale, but otherwise fine. She hasn't been crying, at least – though her mother's eyes are unmistakably red about the edges.

"Your father and I would like to have a conversation about this…" Miranda does not have to raise her voice - which is soothing, but firm – to command their attention. "We are…concerned about June's welfare…and we want to know that the two of you are making decisions that have her best-interests at heart."

Rick looks at June to register how she's responded to this – knowing exactly how she feels about the whole _Task Force X_ shit and the contracts. His eyes practically bore a hole in the side of her skull as she says: "Mom, I can't lie to you guys. This _is_ a…pretty dangerous situation and there's nothing I can do about that. But A.R.G.U.S's involvement minimalize the chance that anyone will be hurt – including me - and…" June looks up into Rick's face, her eyes gentle and trusting. "…I have Rick. He loves me, and he also happens to be the best Special Forces agent in the country. If you want to trust anyone to look after me, you can trust him." Rick feels his shoulders tense and he jerks his gaze to somewhere out at sea, finding suddenly that he can't meet Miranda or Robert's eyes. How could June stand there, telling her parents that she was safe, when she wanted to deliberately put herself in harms way simply to – as she put it – be 'useful'? How could she tell such an obvious lie? June _wasn't_ safe. She'd been shot at and manipulated and abused. Fuck, he'd _watched_ it all happen to her.

"And you're…stuck with this?" her mother asks, in a way that makes Rick think she's asked the same question before. "There's no way of reversing it?"

June shakes her head, and Rick's surprised by the gentle way she says: "No," – as if that single word were breakable. "We tried. But nothing works. She's stuck inside of me. But as long as Amanda Waller has the heart, she can't do anything. It effectively means that I can go on with my life as normally as possible given the situation. It's not as bad as it sounds."

Rick feels a muscle jump in his jaw. It is what every parent wants to hear: that their children will be able to grow up and have everything they wanted. He can physically see Miranda Moone relax at June's words – not able to hear the hypocrisy he hears.

What had June told him when they had argued over that folder? ' _Normal isn't an option for me anymore'_. She had screamed at him for so much as suggesting it.

He couldn't let her join that Task Force. He couldn't let her just stand here and lie to her parents, who just wanted her to be safe.

Rick swallows, rubbing at his forehead in an attempt to ward off a headache. "Sorry – can you all just...exscuse me for a second? I just need to –" but he shakes his head, his lip curling with obvious irritation and doesn't bother to finish his sentence. He's not sure what he ' _just needs to do_.' Shake some sense into his girlfriend? Go to a shooting range and shoot the shit out of a couple of targets? He walks down the steps and towards the ocean, feeling irrationally angry as he watches the waves lap at the small stretch of coarse white sand behind June's house.

It's not long before he feels a small hand touch his back, smoothing comfortingly against it. June doesn't say anything, she just hovers at his side and waits for him to speak. After a while Rick's anger becomes tinged with something like sadness.

"I can't let you join this Task Force," he tells her, eventually – a defeated finality in his voice. "I just…I can't do it."

She nods slowly, absorbing what he has said. "I thought we'd been through this?" she asks, quietly. "It's my decision, and I get this week to decide."

Almost resentfully, Rick throws back: "...Why did you even decide you wanted to come down here, June?"

"I wanted to see them…they needed to hear the truth."

"That isn't the truth! I mean, I don't get it – _you_ were the one who said to me that a 'normal' life wasn't on the cards for you –"

" – well you stand in front of _my_ parents and tell them the truth," she returns, coolly folding her arms. "Tell my Mom what reality is like, Mr I'm-A-Soldier and I 'tell-it-how-it-is'. Try telling her that I'm _not_ going to have a normal job. Tell her that I'm _not_ going to have a life where I'm not constantly monitored or under surveillance. I don't know what to tell you?! Sometimes you lie to the people you love, Rick."

Rick continues to stare into mid-space, determinedly not looking at her. It is still a wound too raw for him – an argument that they never fully resolved. Sure, he'd given her that week-long ultimatum – but had he really meant it? Would he really accept it if June decided to join the Task Force? Now, he's not so sure.

"Can you at least look at me?" June pushes, and Rick's nostrils flare. He can't look at her because looking at her right now will just make him more angry, and he doesn't want to be angry with her. He loves her. He knows that she is just doing her best in a bad set of circumstances. Does he think her parents deserve more than a watered down version of the truth? Probably not. By the looks on their faces it would destroy them to know the whole thing. But Rick and June are the one's that have to live out the reality, and right now reality is feeling pretty sucky.

"….Okay –" June says, her voice slightly acerbic when he doesn't respond. "- can we go back up to my parents? They still haven't met you properly…I'll tell them not to talk about the witch-stuff anymore. I'll talk to them about it tonight - because apparently it's too much for you to handle." He throws June a look which she meets calmly – not backing down. She shakes some hair out of her face that the wind has blown into her eyes, and he realises that he misses the feeling of her hand on his back. "…I know you're not okay with this, Rick, but right now we are at my parent's house and I want them to be happy and I want them to get to know the man I love. So you're going to put a smile on your face and you're going to be charming and we're not going to talk about any decisions I may or may not make until the end of this trip, am I absolutely clear?"

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth at June's fiercely determined look. Despite himself, he's always liked it when she shows a bit of fire.

"Alrigh'" he relents, kissing her on the lips briefly. June accepts it without complaint, though she keeps her arms tightly folded and he has a feeling she could have lectured him a lot more. "Let's go."

He follows her up the beach to the back of the house – getting a weird feeling of déjà vu as he watches June walk in front of him in the rapidly darkening twilight. He's reminded of the day he first met her in this exact spot – and he's pretty sure that June is wearing the same pair of denim shorts and white T Shirt, a thick grey cardigan haphazardly thrown on to keep her warm. He remembers how even then she'd gone toe-to-toe with him – this mousy girl he hadn't even known, who'd surprised him with a strength he would never have guessed at.

June's mother has turned on the lights in the kitchen and is laying the table for dinner. There's a rich smell of some kind of casserole cooking and June moans appreciatively as she steps indoors – clearly recognizing the scent.

"You're making my favourite!" she grins, hugging her mother from behind as she helps fish cutlery from draws. "Sausage and bean casserole. Best kind of comfort food."

Rick, however, is collared the moment he steps into the kitchen by Scott.

"C'mere," the older man calls from down the hallway, beckoning. Rick finds himself entering a cramped study with an out-dated looking computer and a shelf buried underneath a mountain of scraps of paper, envelopes and books. Tacked to one wall is a photo of Scott and June's younger brother, Jamie, holding a fish between them almost as big as they are.

"I want to talk to you," Scott says, rounding on him. "Man to man."

Rick is a good bit taller than Scott Moone, but the man's taciturn mistrust and steely attitude ever since he had arrived more than makes up for the difference in height. When Rick had mentioned it to June, she had merely snorted, stating that her father's bull-headed behaviour reminded her of someone else she knew. It had taken Rick a second to realise she'd been referring to him.

"Okay," Rick says, trying to appear respectful and nonchalant at the same time. "Shoot."

"That is my daughter out there," Scott says, clearly, thrusting a finger in the general vicinity of the kitchen. "As a father, I have done my best to protect for and provide for this family. I might not have always been able to give June everything she wanted when she was growing up, but she is my one and only daughter and I did everything I could for her. Now I understand that there are some things she is involved in that I can't protect her from and I need you to be there for her. Do you understand what I am saying to you? You best look after her well."

"I will."

"And I know June can be stubborn and…go off doin' her own thing," Scott continues, waving a hand dismissively, "but you do not take your eyes off of her for a second. You stay by her. You stick with her."

"Yessir."

"Anything happens to her on your watch, I'm coming after you," Scott asserts. "I don't care if you're G.I Joe or what."

"I…completely understand."

"June says you're the best Special Forces agent in the country so I'll be expecting a lot from you."

"Yep."

"Are we clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

The deep wrinkles in Scott's forehead smooth out and he looks almost amiable for the first time. His long face abruptly turns chagrined, and he blows out a deep breath – as if unsure what to say to Rick now that he has his unquestioning support. Rick remembers June mentioning that her father had been a lawyer before they had moved to Florida in her childhood and Rick can sort of see the steely no-nonsense professional beneath the baggy cargo shorts and rumpled, sandy hair.

"Alright – well – I'm glad we got that settled," Scott says, opening the door and assuring Rick out - evidently attempting to keep up his no-nonsense bravado. Rick can see cracks developing, however, and is beginning to think that now that most of the shock has worn off, Scott's heart isn't really in the act.

Rick makes his way down the cramped, narrow wooden hallway to see that June and her mother have already laid the table for the family dinner. He can hear a loud, male voice even before he steps into the room, and realises that he is about to meet the last Moone family member.

Though Jamie physically does not look anything like Rooster - and despite the fact there is almost twenty years in age difference between the two men - there's something about the way Jamie Moone talks that reminds Rick of the ginger-haired soldier. Perhaps it's the off-hand, flippant remarks. Perhaps it's the way he's currently lounging at the table with his feet kicked up on another chair.

" _You_ ," he's saying to June, incredulously. " _You're_ a meta-human? Does that mean we're millionaires now?"

June, who's lent up against the kitchen counter, sipping from a mug, pauses to stare at her younger brother. " _What_?"

Jamie Moone shrugs. "Everyone loves meta-humans. Superman was probably loaded, and you can't tell me that Batman's Batmobile cost the same as Mom's Prius."

"Jamie, this is all top secret. I'm not exactly a celebrity – I'm not going to be on TV anytime soon."

"So? It's money under the table. Either way, you're not paying tax."

June rolls her eyes. "You're an idiot."

"Hey, you can't just come into my house and insult me."

" _Please_ , this is Mom and Dad's house. You don't even pay rent."

" _June_ –" Miranda interjects as she dishes casserole out onto five separate plates. Rick gets the sense that it's an old argument.

"I'll have you know I now have a job," Jamie returns, plucking at a bright blue polo neck that bares a logo Rick can't quite make out. He's now scrolling through his phone however, his attention moving elsewhere. June mutters something darkly under her breath that Rick doesn't catch but Jamie obviously does.

"Don't use the Lord's name in vain," he quips, not looking up from his phone.

Dinner is a less volatile affair now that the air's been cleared somewhat, though Rick still finds himself being peppered with questions. They're markedly less demanding than before, but he still gets the sense he's being weighed on an invisible set of scales. He reminds himself that it is merely a mark of how much June's parents love her that they won't accept merely anyone for their daughter.

"So, how long were you…in the army for, Rick?" Miranda Moone asks him politely as she deals him out a large portion of stew. Rick notes with amusement after his first bite that June's mother is a much better cook than she is.

For some reason, Rick thinks he catches June subtly roll her eyes at her mother's question next to him. "About fourteen years. Went to West Point, did about three years as a private. Then five as Sergeant and got promoted to Colonel in the last couple of years out in Afghanistan. Joined Special Forces when I got back in 2013."

"You were out there for the entire war?" Scott asks, cutting up a piece of meat on his plate.

"Yeah, yeah I was."

"Must've been pretty tough – being out there for so long."

Rick shrugs. It had been his job – he'd signed up for it. It wasn't like anyone had forced him to be there. "It's what I do for a living."

"Well, we thank you for your service and for defending this country," Miranda smiles at him and Rick shifts in his seat uncomfortably. Almost eighteen years in some form of the military and he still wasn't sure how to respond to those words. He had never felt like a hero and there were plenty of people – doctors, firemen – who were far less morally compromised than he was. He wasn't sure being able to keep a cool head and a steady trigger finger merited Miranda Moone's gratitude.

As is sensing his discomfort, June rubs his knee underneath the table.

"So what do the two of you normally eat for dinner, then? June make you anything nice?"

Rick snorts and almost chokes on his drink.

"Mom, I'm not his housewife," June shoots back with exasperation. "And this isn't the fifties. We share the cooking."

"Yeah, an' you're not exactly the best cook," he smirks, looking at her.

June's mother looks scandalized. "But I taught you all my recipes!"

"I _know_. And, like, I could probably make an entire lasagne, but who has the effort to do that when you can just get a frozen one?"

"Because frozen lasagnas have that cheese that goes all scabby at the top," Jamie interjects, his mouth half-full with food. "It goes all crusty. It's like eating a giant scab."

"Not at the table, son," Scott Moone says, tiredly.

"- yeah but my _point_ being, home-cooked food is always so much better than the frozen shit."

"- _Jamie_ -"

"Yeah, I'm sure it is when Mom can put a nice hot meal on the table for you every night," June replies sarcastically. " _We_ –" she points between Rick and herself "- have to stick with frozen ready-meals."

"The price you pay for being a responsible adult, sis."

"You're _twenty_ ," June shoots back, incredulously. "When I was your age, I was in college and had a part-time job!"

" - Alright – no more arguing at the table, you two. We have a guest," Miranda says firmly, looking at Rick pointedly. He has to duck his head so that she won't see his lips twitching.

"What are you talking about?" June replies, faux sweetly. "We're not arguing. This is genuine sibling affection - this is how we show our love for each other."

Jamie merely leans across the corner of the table and whispers to Rick: "you're being conned, man. June makes a mean mac and cheese."

* * *

Later that evening, Rick pads into the kitchen looking for June. He's wearing sweatpants and an old hoody and is surprised to see June's mother dressed as if she is about to go for a run – despite the fact that it is pitch black outside. She's leaning against the kitchen worktop drinking a glass of something vaguely green, her fly-away salt and pepper hair pulled back into a long plait.

"Isn't it a bit late to be headin' out?" he asks her, curiously. Though he'd got some similar, flighty vibes from June's Mom, he still hadn't exactly pegged her for a night-time running enthusiast.

"Oh, I'm just doing my _sevasanas_ out on the decking," she waves a hand, setting her glass down in the sink. "I won't disturb you and June."

"Er – what?"

"I've just taken up yoga," Miranda informs him, beaming. "I like to do a bit before I turn in for the night. I've had a bad back recently and the doctor recommended it."

Rick looks at Miranda closely as she chatters on. He knows women like her – women who wave off questions about their own problems before quickly changing the topic to your own life and your own issues.

"You're alright though, right?" he checks.

"Oh, that's real nice of you to ask about little old me –" she teases him, before looking at something over his shoulder. "You picked a good one, honey."

Rick looks over his shoulder to see June enter the kitchen, wearing shoes and carrying a plastic bag that clearly has a fresh bottle of wine in. She throws her house keys down on the table. "Thanks, Mom."

"And I am _so_ sorry about Scott, by the way," Miranda adds, turning her attention back to Rick. "He's not usually like that – I promise."

"Don' worry about it."

"You'll both understand when you have your own family. You'll have to deal with raising them and then watch them fly the nest –"

" _Okay_ , let's not go counting our grandchildren before they've been born," June cuts in, pressing a kiss to her mother's cheek as she fishes round in the kitchen cabinet for a large wine glass. "Go do your yoga."

"Alright – but don't tape over the football. Your Daddy and Jamie'll throw a fit."

June rolls her eyes. "We'll try not to."

She and Rick settle themselves down on the comfy but distinctly worn sofa in the living room down the hall. It's right next to the study and misleadingly cramped and dark; the kitchen-dining area providing the best views of the ocean.

Rick throws his arm over the back of the couch as June unscrews the lid on her wine and pours herself a large glass. He smirks slightly as she takes a sip, closing her eyes and savouring the taste.

"Tough day?" he teases, as she curls up into his side. Neither of them even bother to turn the TV, instead enjoying the time alone.

"It's good to be back but…somehow everything just feels more cramped…I've never felt that way about home before. Maybe it's because Dad has us under a microscope." She places her elbow on the back of the couch and uses it to prop her head up as she twists to look at him. "What do you think of them?" she asks, a smile hovering about her lips.

"I like them," Rick shrugs, nodding. "I'm not sure if they like me."

"I think Mom's smitten," she teases. "It's just awkward because Dad's being embarrassing and trying on this whole alpha-male douche bag thing. It doesn't suit him."

"Yeah," Rick deadpans, "that's why this is awkward." He glances at her. " – have you thought about -?"

"Ah-ta-ta-" June cuts in, carefully setting her wineglass down on a side table. "We're not talking about that, remember?" she murmurs, leaning in close and pressing her lips to his. She shifts, moving to slide onto his lap and Rick pulls away.

"Uh – no. Not in your parent's house," he rejects, as he grabs her hand that has snaked underneath his hoody. "It's weird."

"It's not that weird."

"Your Mom is literally right outside doin' _yoga_."

"So? The curtains are closed."

Rick rolls his eyes, grabbing the old blanket thrown over the back of the couch and spreading it across their knees. "I thought we were gonna watch a film?" he smirks, bending down to pick up the nearest DVD. " _Men In Black II_?"

June wrinkles her nose, picking her wine glass back up. "That's one of Jamie's. You choose, I'm just going to sit here and get drunk."

After June's second glass of wine, however, Rick notices her eyelids begin to droop. Turns out white wine made for a sleepy June. By the time Rick's twenty minutes into _Independence Day_ June's head is resting on his shoulder and she's snoring lightly.

He looks at her, amused, and when the film is finished scoops her up into his arms gently. June makes an indistinct murmur in the back of her throat in response to the movement but doesn't wake.

Despite the late hour, Rick has the luck to walk out onto the hall just as the bathroom light clicks off and Scott Moone steps out, dressed in pajamas and a pair of reading glasses so thick, they make him look vaguely owlish. For some reason Rick freezes, feeling like an imposter in the other man's home – acutely aware that it is his daughter that is gathered up in his arms.

Scott looks from Rick to a sleeping June, her cheek resting against Rick's shoulder. The older man coughs once. "She fall asleep in front of the TV?" he asks Rick, his voice slightly throaty with tiredness.

"Yeah."

"Number of times she'd do that as a kid…" Scott mutters, shaking his head. He stands aside for Rick to pass. "Reckon she's a darn sight heavier than she was when she was six - you best get her to bed."

Actually, June's slim frame isn't any trouble for Rick to hold, but he takes the chance to maneuver her past Scott anyway. The two men glance at one another and for a moment there's a kind of understanding: that no matter what, they would always have June in common.

"I'll see you in the morning, son," Scott says, patting Rick on the shoulder awkwardly as he passes.

"Yeah – you too."

* * *

Rick wakes sharply from a dream he cannot remember to hear his phone buzzing on the bedside table. He grabs it and cancels the call before it can wake June and then tiredly rolls out of bed. It's early morning, the light in the Moone's guest room fresh and bright. Rick eyes his bag as he slips into his trainers and on second thoughts retrieves his pack of cigarettes from a side pocket. He told himself he wouldn't smoke here unless it was an emergency, but he's feeling tired and crabby.

He silently exits the house through the front door and lights up out on the street where no one will see him. Once he's taken a couple of blissful drags, he checks the caller ID. Grant.

"What's up?" Rick asks, dialling the other man back. He is painfully aware that he has barely spoken to anyone on his team since the events in Mexico. June wasn't the only one who had been walking round like a ghost for those few weeks, and he can't remember the last time he and his second-in-command had a proper conversation that wasn't about work.

"Hey man," Grant says. "Where are you? Just asked Waller where you were and she tells me you just took the week off or something. Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine. 'M in Florida."

" _Florida_?"

"Yeah…we went down to see June's parents."

Grant lets out a low whistle on the other end of the line. "Whoa, dude. Congrats. I guess that makes it kinda official then if you've met her parents. What're they like?"

"They're good people. Her Mom's kind of hippie. Didn't go down well with either of them that she'd been hiding the fact she was a meta human for four months, but I think they're startin' to like me."

"Oh shit, yeah. I forgot about that."

"You forgot June was possessed by a witch?"

"No, just how top secret it all is. So many people know about the two of you that I feel like it's the best worst-kept secret in this place. Still," Grant pauses. "If my daughter had come home with you, I would'a fuckin' beat you up with a baseball bat."

"Good to know," Rick replies dryly. He glances up at June's house, trying to guess if anyone is awake yet. "Listen, is there a reason you called me at –" he checks his watch – "eight in the morning?"

"Oh, um, yeah. We're wrapping things up here. Higher-ups say we're moving north to Midway City at the end of this month. Apparently meta-humans are starting to realise their own are disappearing off the streets. Their gettin' jumpy – apparently some cop was murdered up there."

Rick pauses. He's forgotten just how much had changed in the past week – had forgotten that Grant had no idea about the contracts, or about _Task Force X._ As far as Grant knew, it was a proposition that Rick and his team had rejected. _Crap_ , he thinks, his jaw twitching with irritation. As if he didn't have enough problems already.

"…so enjoy your holiday whilst you can, man," Grant continues, luckily not waiting for Rick to give any kind of response. "Because shit's probably about to hit the fan. I'm guessing Midway's gonna be a hell of a lot hotter than NC."

"Tell me about it," Rick mutters, distractedly.

He hears Grant hesitate on the other end of the line. The younger man sounds as if he's in a car, and Rick wonders where he is. "Hey – how's June doing?"

"...She's good, actually. She's doing better than she was. We haven't had any more appearances from that witch since Mexico, which I guess is a good thing."

"Weird, though, that she hasn't done anything since she tried to go for world domination. Doesn't that worry you?"

"Waller has the heart. She wouldn't dare step out of line."

But he can hear the doubt in Grant's voice, as if he is still not convinced. To be honest, however, Rick is less worried about any kind of retaliation from the Enchantress and more worried about what Waller could do with that heart. Nobody should have unlimited control of another person – but especially Amanda Waller of all people.

"Listen, I should probably go –" Rick says, finishing his cigarette hastily and pulling on his t shirt to air it out. He doesn't want any awkward questions about who was calling, and the less he talks about his work around June's parents, the better.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure. We need to catch up when you get back, though. Go for a drink. Feels like I haven't seen you in ages."

Rick sighs. Grant is right. He _has_ been distant recently – but he can just picture Grant's reaction over that drink when Rick informs him he's joining Task Force X. Grant would probably swallow his own tongue. Tell him he's gone insane – that they had voted against this for a reason.

"Sure thing," Rick promises, hanging up the phone.

He looks around himself. As a long-time smoker, he still can't tell if he smells of cigarettes or not. He guesses he'll just have to risk it.

The house is still quiet when he re-enters, but Rick thinks he can hear movement from June's parent's bedroom as they get ready for the day. He slips past their door and edges back into the guest bedroom – kicking his shoes off. When he turns around, June is already awake.

"Did you just go outside to smoke?" she asks him, raising an eyebrow disapprovingly as she pushes herself up onto her elbows.

"Actually, Grant called," he shoots back, holding up his phone as if for proof. "I didn't want to wake you up so I went outside."

Still, when he stretches out on the bed next to her, she hits his arm. " _Liar_ , I can smell it on you!"

"So I had one whilst I was on the phone."

She rolls her eyes. "You are _so_ addicted. When are you going to quit?"

"I'm workin' on it," Rick grumbles, as she sniffs at his T Shirt pointedly once more.

"I could throw the pack away and you can just go cold turkey," she threatens. "See how you like that." Rick glares at her and she looks back at him expectantly as she props her head up against the headboard. "…What did Grant want?"

He tilts his head on the pillow, watching as she picks at the hem of her top. "The task force have almost filled their quota for North Carolina. Apparently Waller's moving them up to Midway City at the end of the month...which _means_ ," he groans, rubbing his face, "…that we might be moving. Even though we've signed for the house."

June tries to keep her face impassive, but he sees the way her brow furrows. "You don't want to leave the house either, though…right?" she asks, tentatively. "I mean, is that even an option?"

"It just basically means that if we _don't_ sign up for Task Force X and I stay in the job I'm in, we're gonna have to leave. Timing's too good to be a coincidence. I'm thinkin' Waller must've planned it."

" _Brilliant_ ," June murmurs sarcastically. "Does Grant know that?"

"He doesn't know about Task Force X, if that's what you're thinkin'," Rick replies, shouldering up until he's sat up next to June. "The guys aren't goin' to take it well if I drop the team."

She bites down on her lip and intertwines her fingers in his. "And what about you?" June asks, tentatively. "I mean…they're like your brothers."

Rick nods at that, feeling the truth of her statement. He looks at June. He's spent so much of the past four months with her – almost every waking and sleeping moment – and yet she still feels as infinitely special as she did when he first met her. "Yeah, but you're my family, June" he tells her – aware that he almost sounds belligerent as he spells it out for her. "You're my future. An' I've got to do what I can to protect that future. It's all about laying foundations: makin' sure there's a kind'a continuity there an' stability so things can grow. I'm not twenty-two any more. I can't just be jumping from state to state an' I want this to work."

June grins down at their clasped hands. She doesn't say anything for a while, but from the way she's looking, Rick knows that his words mean a lot to her. "You know there's nothing sexier from a guy than commitment?" she teases him finally, her eyes flashing at him. "I'm kind of turned on right now."

"Oh really?" he smirks, forgetting his reservations from last night as he stares back at her. Morning sex doesn't sound like a bad idea to him right now, and he can't really resist June when she gets all flirtatious.

"…I think there's some kind of evolutionary explanation for it. Or biological," she grins as he shifts onto his side. "I can't remember which one."

"June," he replies, as he pulls her closer to him. "Shut up."

* * *

 **A/N** Wow, I can't believe we've reached Chapter 30. (And this is my longest chapter to date!)

I really am so grateful that you guys take the time to leave these really long, thoughtful reviews for each chapter. It's so interesting to read what you all like and don't like about this fic (and it makes me smile that everyone looks forwards to Rick's POV's so much). He's such an alpha-male, which can make him fun to write. It also probably means he and June butt-heads a bit more than they should.

To answer a question I'm frequently asked about this story: I doubt there will be more than fifteen chapters from this point onwards. I am planning on covering the events of Suicide Squad, and then a chapter or two afterwards just to wrap things up. So we're on the home stretch right now. I hope you've enjoyed my take on Rick and June's relationship.

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N** Saw Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them last weekend and absolutely _adored_ it. If you're a Harry Potter fan, definitely go see it!

This is my longest chapter to date - mainly because I'm dealing with June meeting each Suicide Squad member separately. Let me know in the comments what your favourite interaction is (and thank you for waiting for this chapter so patiently.)

* * *

 **WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 31**

* * *

 _ **June**_

They are on their second plane in three days, but June doesn't mind. She is used to travelling and the flight to Lousiana isn't a long one. What _does_ bother her is that she and Rick are sat on a private jet commissioned by A.R.G.U.S; and that Amanda Waller is reclined in a seat barely meters away from her.

June had assumed when Rick suggested they go to Belle Reve that it would be an experience just the two of them would share – but apparently not. A.R.G.U.S had managed to muscle their way in once again. And, really, had June expected Amanda Waller to just simply sit the visit out? As far as she could tell, _Task Force X_ was Waller's brain-child, and she was going to use June to help sell it.

June shifts in her seat and sighs, glancing back down at the book in front of her. Rick had snorted when she had informed him that _The Ecclesiastical History of the English People_ by the medieval historian Bede had been her form of 'light reading'. June liked medieval history, but it wasn't enough to distract her from her irritation. She had asked Amanda Waller if she could have access to some of the research A.R.G.U.S had been doing into the Enchantress's magic. As a scholar, she was more that qualified enough and she was curious besides. But Waller had instantly shut her down.

"There's nothing to learn," she had said, flatly. "The witch is strong, that's all you need to know."

"There's nothing to _learn_?" June had shot back, incredulously. "You find out that magic exists, that a heart and a soul can survive outside of a body thousands of years and you tell me –"

"- You're right. What I should have said is your eyes are _her_ eyes. Your brain is _her_ brain. What you learn, Doctor Moone, that witch learns. We don't want her getting a better sense of her capabilities than she already has."

"Or you just don't want me to know how you're planning on harnessing those capabilities?" June had guessed, shrewdly.

Waller had merely shut her eyes wearily, folding her hands on top of her lap as she settled back into her seat. "You know…when I put together a team of criminals that included Harley Quinn and Captain Boomerang, I never thought that you would be the biggest pain in my ass. Take a leaf out of Colonel Flag's book, Doctor Moone and do as you are told."

June huffs to herself, glancing up at Rick who is sat across from her in their booth. The private jet is plush, with cream leather seats and Rick looks a lot more comfortable than he had on their interconnecting flight to the Keys. At least he had leg room here.

There's a familiarity to the khaki jacket and baseball cap that he is wearing, and he probably feels the same about her own silver-rimmed glasses and neat blouse that she would have usually worn for work. It was as if in Florida they had been trying on different lives - different roles - and now they were back to reality.

Rick had been looking out of the small window for most of the journey, but at her sigh he turns to look at her. June shuts the thick book with more force than necessary.

"You're still pouting," he points out, his lips twitching. "You gonna sulk all the way around Belle Reve?"

"Maybe. I really wanted to look at those files. I know Waller had Melissa carrying out a lot of the research when I went in for testing –" June breaks off, combing her hair out of her face with her fingers. "I don't like being kept in the dark."

"You know why they can't show you any of that stuff."

June suddenly looks at Rick with renewed interest, cocking her head to one side. "How much do _you_ know?" she asks him. It had never occurred to her before that Rick might know more about the Enchantress than she did, but of course it wouldn't make sense if her live-in bodyguard hadn't been fully briefed on the true extent of her abilities. "Can she fly?"

"She can't fly," Rick rolls his eyes. "Yes, I know more than you do – and, no, I'm not going to tell you."

June really does pout then.

Rick's eyes subtly flicker to Waller, who is sat a little way away from them with her eyes closed. June knows better than to think the woman is really asleep, however.

"The place you're about to see…" Rick starts, moving his elbows onto the table so that he can lean across it to talk to her better without being overheard. "- this is going to be as far away from Florida – from your family – as it gets. You won't have seen anything like this before, it's not like a normal prison. Just try to keep your cool, and whatever you do, don't react to anything the inmates say or do. Don't show any kind of weakness. Just stick close to me." His eyes are intense, his voice low and quick, and June can tell that Rick isn't simply being over-protective; that he's serious. She feels a chill go up her spine.

"I'm not leaving your side," June promises, reaching a hand across the table for his and holding it tightly. "Trust me."

They land in Lousiana barely ten minutes later and the three of them file off the jet.

It's raining, and June tilts her umbrella to get her first good look at the facility she could have potentially been locked up in. Her distinct first impression is a grey and soggy one. Though the prison walls are tall and topped with wicked-looking barbed wire, the entirety of Belle Reve seems to sag low into the ground, as if its foundations are physically sinking into the mud. Rick had informed her that the majority of the facility was actually a tunnel network underground. She glances around her at the surrounding swamp. The shallow, swampy water is thick with reeds and June tries to imagine prisoners beneath it. She swallows.

A tall, lone man in guard uniform awaits them on the runway. Like Rick, he is only wearing a baseball cap and has to squint at them through the incessant drizzle.

"Colonel Flag," the man calls his greeting, when they are still feet away. "It's good to see you again, bro!"

Rick subtly rolls his eyes. "Griggs," he greets – monosyllabic – as he comes to a stop, folding his arms. Amanda Waller stands a little behind him, apparently unconcerned with giving him the initiative. June glances at the woman, only to find that she is watching her. "This is Doctor Moone," Rick introduces her. "She's here on Amanda Waller's authorisation."

Griggs' takes one look at June and to her surprise heaves a frustrated sigh. "Dude – _seriously_!? Why do I keep on going to these staff meetings? They stopped doing the little party subs and – well, crap – _look at you_ ," he throws out at June, who merely furrows a brow at him in confusion and irritation. "I _told_ the board no more shrinks. They die too quick and the last one broke the fuckin' coffee machine."

"I'm not a psychiatrist," June points out.

Griggs squints at her neat blouse and beige pencil skirt. She's also wearing her glasses today, which she guesses doesn't help her image. Maybe she should have dressed in something more military, like Rick. "Wait - you're not?" he asks, sceptically.

"She's not," Waller cuts in – an edge of impatience to her normally calm voice. "She's a meta-human with the Task Force X programme. I'd like to see the team one last time before we take this up to Washington."

" _She's_ part of the Task Force?" Griggs checks. "The one with Harley Quinn and Deadshot and Killer Croc?" He looks at June. "You're going to put that chick in with a bunch of serial killers?"

"Trust me, June can take any one of those scum-bags," Rick smirks, and June looks at him sharply. "She'd chew 'em up and spit 'em out. They wouldn't last five seconds."

Grigg's eyes widens and June scowls. She gets the sense that Rick likes messing with this particular guard, though she's not sure why. She also doesn't like it when people try and insinuate that out of all the criminals and the murderers _she_ is the worst of the bad guys. Griggs is now looking at her slightly nervously, and June resists the urge to stamp on Rick's foot. Now the guard probably wasn't going to walk with in five feet of her for the entire visit.

"Well…okay, man," Griggs says to Rick eventually, scratching at the back of his neck. "But I'm warning you that this place ain't going to be up to her female sensibilities. Smells like old lady parts down there. We don't exactly spring clean."

June wrinkles her nose at the man's less-than-charming description and Waller casts him a level look. "I think we can handle it, Captain."

They follow Griggs through the only entrance into the prison; a large gate of double reinforced steel doors that crank open with an ominous groan. Inside, Griggs leads them down a narrow corridor to his office, where he kicks a guard asleep at his desk awake.

"Yo, Donger. Pull your head out of your ass man, can't you see we got guests? Go wake up Sector C. We're doing some home visitations."

June looks around the small, cramped office. There's a bank of CCTV screens across one wall and an overflowing wastepaper bin and miniature golf carpet stretched out beneath it. Griggs sits down on a wheelie chair and pushes himself over to his desk, where June notices his screen is flashing with the neon, bright colours of an online poker website.

 _TOO BAD – YOU LOST!_

"Ah, crap -" Griggs says, looking furtively at Waller who looks utterly concerned by the fact that her guards clearly aren't doing any work. She stands motionless at the corner of the room as Griggs quickly exists the page and brings up a file, reading it quickly. "Lemme have look here…KC…El Diablo…Deadshot… _damn_ girl –" he looks at June. "You are in for one hell of a day."

Rick, who has been walking around the office, looking at its various state of disorder, picks up a large pile of letters bound up with an elastic band. "What're these?"

"Huh? Those?" Griggs asks, glancing over his shoulder at the parcel in Rick's hand distractedly. "Letters. Deadshot's got a twelve year-old daughter."

"Does she know that her Dad's a contract killer?" June asks, curiously, looking between Waller and Griggs. She remembers the file she had briefly read through. Deadshot – AKA, Floyd Lawton had killed hundreds of people for money. She somehow never expected a hit-man to have a child. She also wouldn't put it past Waller to use said child as leverage. Waller had told her that the inmates participating in Task Force X would receive reduced time from their prison sentences…would this man, Deadshot, join an apparently suicidal task force of it meant seeing his daughter again? Or was he purely out for his own personal gain?

"Yeah."

"And she still writes to him?"

"Every day," Griggs replies, pushing himself away from the desk and reaching for a bunch of keys off a hook on the wall. Whilst his back is turned, June notices Rick slip the letters into his inside jacket pocket and she smiles to herself. "I've been bringing the guy his breakfast for like nine months now, and he still greets me in the morning with the same thing. Knuckle sandwich -" Griggs points to a bruise on his cheek, but June gets the distinct impression the prison guard isn't telling them the whole story. "The dude literally has no friends."

"Oh yeah?" Rick interjects.

"Yeah."

Rick folds his arms, looking unconcerned. "Okay, well…I play golf every now an' then with some buddies who work pretty high up in National Security and they can come an' have a look round here, too. They'll probably have a fuckin' field day…So if I see you mistreating one of these prisoners, I may just give them a call."

Griggs holds his hands up, looking at Waller incredulously, as if he can hardly believe Rick is talking to him in this way. To be honest, June can't believe the he's saying this right in front of Waller, either. She's wondering if he has – finally – snapped. But Rick just stands there coolly, almost relaxed. "Hey, dude," Griggs says. "I hate to point it out, but my boss is your boss. I'm just following orders, here."

"Or she turns a blind eye and lets you lot do whatever the hell you want down here," Rick replies, shooting a sharp look at Waller who merely raises her eyebrows at him.

"Stand down, Colonel. I'll remind you that it is _not_ your place to criticize how things are run around here."

But Rick is looking at Waller now, his steady gaze holding her impassive one. "I've seen this kind of thing before…isolated prison. No-one's really lookin' because no-one really cares about what happens to the inmates. Guards have free-reign. It'll become a problem."

"Look, man, if you're talkin' about the online poker, I do that just to blow off some steam. Trust me, my guys are nothing if not professional." Griggs protests, appealing to Waller – who merely ignores him. He then looks at June, spinning the keys round his finger. "Ready to see the circus sweetheart?"

June tries to plaster an amiable look on her face, trying to pretend that the tension between Rick and Amanda Waller hasn't become as thick as soup. "Lead the way," she smiles.

They follow Griggs out of the office and down a tunnel-like corridor. June's low kitten-heels splash against thin puddles on the floor, as if the walls are seeping moisture from the swamp. She wrinkles her nose, noting that there is indeed a smell of damp – like an open sewer.

She falls into step next to Rick, noting the tightness in his jaw.

"What was that about?" she whispers to him, trying to keep her voice as low as possible – despite the fact that everything seems to echo here. She doesn't want to draw the attention of Grigg's, mainly because she and Rick have silently decided to pretend they are not a couple. Of course Waller knew about their relationship, but that didn't mean that the entirety of Belle Reve had to, too. June figured it would be…unwise for her potential teammates to know that she was involved with Rick when he was theoretically supposed to be leading them. She wasn't stupid. They were criminals – murderers. If one of them figured out that the guy holding them in line had his girlfriend on the team, they would use her as leverage for sure. They would hurt her- kill her – just to get to him.

"What?" Rick grunts, predictably being difficult.

"Talking to Waller like that. You have to be more careful. You know how many strings she has on us. Rick, the heart –"

"I know," he admits, rubbing a hand down on his face. "I know an' I'm sorry. I'll try to keep a lid on it."

At the sound of Rick's voice, Grigg's looks curiously over his shoulder at the two of them. They automatically step apart, trying to put some more distance between their bodies. June thinks she still sees a hint of a leer on the prison guard's face, however, and is beginning to realise why Rick doesn't like him. The feeling of being watched – of having to think over her every move – makes June antsy.

The tunnel leads into a kind of locker room filled with guards. The grey, coffin-like lockers have been popped open to reveal heavy riot gear. But June notices one distinct difference. Riot gear is supposed to intimidate and control. As far as she can tell, the guns these men are carrying will kill – they are large, almost like snipers.

"Is all this really necessary?" June asks Waller, her eyes wide. She feels woefully under prepared, only clutching her soggy umbrella. Even Rick is checking the magazine in his handgun, and June wonders if it's just a reflex or if he actually think that he will use it.

"Yes…Whilst we can trust _you_ to stay in line, the people here are criminals or insane or both. They have powers and abilities beyond normal human boundaries. They need to feel a legitimate threat, and Tasers don't cut it."

June frowns, disliking the reminder that the only thing separating her from the inmates of Belle Reve is her own compliance. "But big guns do?" June questions, sceptically. She thinks of Killer Croc's strength, El Diablo's powers. Surely a few guns would not be enough to keep them under control?

A smile touches Waller's lips that doesn't reach her eyes. "We have…other methods," she admits, pushing her hands into her suit pockets as she waits for the remainder of the guards to gear up. June looks at her sharply, but the head of A.R.G.U.S does not elaborate.

After a few seconds, June can feel the ghost of Rick's hand against her elbow – gently nudging her away from Waller and to a private corner of the room. He lowers his head to her level, about to mutter something to her, and June can't help but roll her eyes.

"I know, I know," she tells him. "Stick close to you. I promised I'll be careful."

"Don't talk. Don't say anything. We're just here to watch and learn." When June raises both eyebrows incredulously, Rick moves slightly closer, unconsciously attempting to use his superior size to intimidate her. "I'm serious June."

"I can't even talk?"

He glares at her. "I know what you're like, an' this isn't time to be making rash decisions. Your small, a girl and the weakest one out of the group," he says, bluntly, glancing round at the heavily armed guards. "Don't draw attention to that fact."

"Rash decisions? Says the guy who just tried to stand up to Amanda Waller!" But despite her protests, June really has no intention of leaving Rick's side for the duration of her time in Belle Reve. The thought of being separated from him in this place puts her on edge – as if they might whisk her away and lock her up in one of their cells if they find her walking down a corridor by herself.

Rick must see on her face and realise that she's going to do as she's told, because he visibly relaxes.

Griggs has shrugged into a bullet proof vest and is now holding a rifle. He walks back up to Waller, Rick and June – looking between the three of them. It's clear that he's not entirely sure who's calling the shots here. What, with Rick being so vocal, Waller being so quiet and June apparently being a stronger meta-human than any of his prisoners, he obviously doesn't know where the power lies.

"Okay…so…where to first?"

Waller adjusts the sleeves of her fuchsia pink suit – one that June has seen her wear before. "I think…we'll start with Mr Lawton."

* * *

 **DEADSHOT**

* * *

About fifteen guards accompany them to the cell, and June can't understand why until Griggs clears his throat.

"Alright – you guys might want to step aside," he says, as he draws the grate back on the steel door. "Yo Floyd," he calls through. "You've got visitors my man."

The guards automatically form two lines as an electric current beeps the cell door open. Rick abruptly grips June's elbow hard, drawing her slightly behind him as the guards charge in. June audibly gasps. She can't see the man inside because he is instantly buried in an avalanche of riot-gear and man-handled into some kind of chair.

"I am gonna _fuck_ you the fuck up –" Deadshot is yelling, and June finally catches a glimpse of a dark-skinned, bald man as thick leather straps are wrapped around his wrists and ankles.

"Language, Lawton. We are in the presence of ladies," Griggs informs him, a smirk on his face. "One of them wants to talk to you."

But Deadshot just continues to look at Griggs. "I'm gonna rip off your testicles and I'm gonna feed them to you."

"Donger –" Griggs says, looking to the nearest guard, his voice almost gleeful. The man, who is wearing a mask to cover the lower part of his face, raises the butt of his gun – clearly about to strike the inmate in the chair.

" _No_ –!" June protests, pushing her way into the cell. Rick, who is still holding onto her arm, half jerks her back, but she still manages to make it through the doorway.

" _I told you to stay behind me –_ " Rick snaps at her, but they've already drawn the attention of Deadshot. Stuck in the chair, he looks at them both incredulously.

"Sorry, I just have one question:" he lifts a finger despite the fact that his wrists are restrained, pointing between Rick and June. "Who are you two? Who is she? When did I get visitation rights? And when the hell can I get out of this uncomfortable-ass chair?"

"That's more than one question," Rick points out, dryly.

Deadshot throws him a glare. "Yeah, you're real smart, man. You got me – and you –" he looks at June, "I don't need you _defending_ me or whatever, lady. I ain't no damsel in distress."

" _Hey_ ," Rick all but bites his head off – firing up far too quickly. "Be polite – she was just bein' nice."

But Deadshot merely ignores Rick, looking straight at June. His expression is still sceptical, his lip curled upwards in a small sneer. "So…what? You're a head shrink? Are you here to witch doctor me? I'm not the crazy in this place - I freely admit that I have killed _a lot_ of people. I deserve to be here."

June blushes at the mention of a 'witch doctor', but otherwise keeps her cool. She is beginning to wish she hadn't worn a suit, however. It's not endearing her to the prisoners or the prison staff. "I'm not a doctor," she replies, adjusting her glasses. "And I am well aware that you've killed over two hundred people and once shot a man at over four thousand meters."

"Huh, look who decided to show up to class."

Despite herself, her mind goes to the letters Rick had picked up. She can't help but be curious about the disparity in the fact that a murderer had a daughter who clearly loved him enough to write to him daily. She knows that this is her weakness. She had seen the humanity in the Enchantress and despite herself she was searching for the humanity in the inmates in Belle Reve – wanting to believe they were something more than the low-lives Rick assured her they were

"Do you miss your daughter?" June's not sure what makes her say it, and if she'd thought things through more maybe she wouldn't have.

"Oh, I get it. You think we're _friends_ and that we're goin' to do each others _pigtails_ and spill our guts to each other. Listen, sweetheart, I have known you about ten seconds. Do I miss my daughter? How the hell do you know I _have_ a daughter?"

"It's in your file."

Deadshot leans forwards in his chair until the restraints creek. "I'm not talking until you tell me why you're here."

"We're here because we have a job for you Mr Lawton–" Amanda Waller cuts in, smoothly; speaking for the first time. "But first…I'd like to see if you're worth hiring."

* * *

 **KILLER CROC**

* * *

June's ears are still ringing with the sound of bullets punching through sheet-metal as they are led to Killer Croc's cell. Or, at least, June thinks that's where they're going. Griggs inexplicably stops half way down a corridor, looking at them expectantly.

"Well, here we are," he says, looking down at the man-hole cover at his feet.

"It's homey," Rick says, sarcastically, wrinkling his nose slightly at the potent smell emitting from beneath their feet.

"That's barbaric –" June adds.

"Okay, I don't have time for both of your goody-two-shoes bullshit," Griggs rolls his eyes. "I'd like to add that KC _asked_ to be down there. The sewer is his natural environment."

"I think I'll sit this one out," Waller interjects, picking at an imaginary loose thread on her suit as one of the guards heaves the man-hole cover open. "Colonel – Doctor Moone –" she says, gesturing to the grimy looking ladder. "I trust you both can assess this case for yourselves."

June bites her lip, glancing at Rick uneasily. She doesn't like the feeling she's getting as they get deeper into the heart of Belle Reve. It's reminding her of the pit in Mexico, and the last thing she wants to do right now is climb down that black hole.

Rick must sense her unease because he goes down first.

"Here –" Griggs says, handing June a flashlight. "There's not much room down there, so it's just gonna be you and Johnny Rain Cloud. If the Croc somehow manages to break out his cell, scream and we'll come get you…or, y'know, what's left of you."

"Thanks," June mutters, taking the flashlight. The metal ladder is old and grimy – made twice as difficult to climb down by the fact that she is wearing kitten heels. When she gets close to the ground, a pair of hands grab her by the waist. June jumps violent and almost screams before she realises that it's Rick.

"It's just me," he mutters, reassuringly, lifting her down the last few rungs. June lands with a huff of breath against him, her heart still beating rapidly.

There's a dull _plunking_ sound of liquid dripping into a larger body of water, and when June turns the flashlight on she illuminates a set of bars through which she can see a stagnant pool of green water. She thinks she can see things floating in it, but doesn't want to look too hard to figure out what it is.

Rick bangs the grip of his handgun against the bars several times with a clanging sound and June holds her breath.

Immediately, a head breaks the surface of the water and a man climbs out of the pool. He's huge, hulking and barely human. Up close, it is easy to see how this man can tear another human-being apart. His skin is more of a thick, reptilian hide and dense, bone-like spurs have grown from his spine and knuckles – suggesting to June a kind of reinforced skeleton structure. A brownish sludge from the pool drips from him as he walks and June backs up slightly as he approaches them – the metal bars suddenly looking woefully insubstantial. Rick keeps his cool, bracing one arm against the wall as he looks at the man whose name was apparently Waylon Jones.

"Why'd they put you down here?" he asks, and June is surprised by the softer edge to Rick's voice. He had always been the one who had assured June that these people were nothing more than low-lives. The bottom dredges of society. But did Rick in some way pity them at the same time?

Killer Croc breathes heavily, the sound made animalistic by the way his nostrils are almost slits. His yellow eyes glint against her flashlight. "... _I…asked_ …." he grunts.

"You want to get outta here? Because you got a chance to get out of this sewer. Join a team of guys like yourself. Criminals. Do some good with your abilities…you can come with us–" but Killer Croc snorts over Rick, as if he finds something he has just said amusing.

" _I don't think so_."

"It's a good deal."

But the reptilian-like man is already turning away. " _Y'all are outsiders. You ain't one of us,"_ he replies, dismissively, before diving back into the water.

* * *

 **CAPTAIN BOOMERANG**

* * *

"You care about them, don't you?" June asks Rick, curiously, as they make their way up a stairwell to one of the higher levels. They're walking somewhere between Griggs and Waller up ahead and about ten guards behind them. The sound of their gear clunking together and the noise of their heavy boots against the stairs is loud enough that she and Rick and talk relatively privately.

Rick makes a sound in the back of his throat, two steps ahead of June. " _Care_ about them? June, they're all killers."

June rolls her eyes. She hadn't meant it in that way, but of course Rick would see her question in its most literal sense. She hadn't meant that he'd suddenly developed a passion to start up a _Task Force X_ day-care – all she'd meant was that Rick had a different way of looking at the prisoners to Waller and Griggs. A more compassionate way. "Okay," she replies, dryly. "But I saw your face when Deadshot fired all those guns. You looked like you peed yourself."

Rick looks over his shoulder at her incredulously. "He performed a perfect headshot with a handgun at _forty_ _feet_. Do you have any idea how hard that is?"

"No, but I'm sure you can fangirl over him with your team when we get home," she smirks. Rick throws her a dirty look.

As they had with Deadshot, the guards once more break up into two separate lines before they entire Captain Boomerang's cell, their batons raised threateningly. It turns out, however, that the Australian is made of different stuff to the contract killer. He's not exactly the type to go down fighting.

The moment the door slides open, June sees the hulking man press himself against the back wall of his cell with his hands in the air.

"I'm complyin'! I'm complyin'!"

"Yeah, yeah - don't get upset, we're not here to hurt you," Griggs rolls his eyes, sauntering into the room casually. June doesn't miss the way the big, blonde man's eyes beadily follow the prison guard's every move, however. She gets the feeling that all Boomerang needed was an opening to attack – and judging by the hulking pack of muscle across his shoulders, he would probably do a lot of damage.

Grigg's turns to face Rick, June and Waller. "Digger Harkness," he says, gesturing to the Australian. "The Australian cowardly thieving shit-bag."

"Actually," interjects Harkness – who is still stood with his back to the wall - his voice fakely contrite. "My profession is very complicated. It's very nuanced, y'know? I prefer the term asset relocation specialist."

"I'm sure you do," Waller replies, her mouth twisting into a smirk. She folds her arms, looking at Harkness. "You have 98 counts of burglary to your name. You had quite a streak going…before we caught you."

"Yeah, an' I would'a made it to a-hundred if that bloody kid in red Spandex hadn't got me." Harkness's eyes suddenly flicker to June and his mouth stretches into a smile that reveals a glinting, golden tooth. "Alrigh' love?" he asks, and June resists the urge to pull a face by way of response. She keeps her expression impassive, folding her arms. "Whose balls did ya have to fondle ta end up here? - His?" he asks, looking at Rick intuitively.

"One of these days someone is goin' to sew your fuckin' mouth shut, and I'm not going to do a thing to stop it," Rick informs the Australian, bluntly.

* * *

 **EL DIABLO**

* * *

"Still think scum like that deserve me feeling sorry for them?" Rick asks June, as they make their way to an outside courtyard. The rain has let up to a light drizzle that still somehow manages to instantly saturate June's hair, which has been twisted back into a neat bun.

Amanda Waller waits for them under a canopy that looks more like a khaki tarpaulin stretched over a few posts. Intermittently a waterfall of rain water will be coughed up over the edge, splattering loudly onto the ground with a sound like gunfire.

Rick's jaw is locked and June has to smile at his irritable anger. He was, after all, merely annoyed on her behalf. They would have to get used to leery and offensive comments from their would-be teammates unless they planned on disclosing the nature of their relationship some time soon. June thinks even Captain Boomerang would think twice about looking at her if he realised _Rick_ was her boyfriend.

Waller must be thinking along the same lines because her lips twist into something approaching amusement as June approaches. "There's a reason we called it a task force and not a 'team', Doctor Moone. I hope you both realise that this won't be happy families."

"Yeah, kinda getting that through loud and clear," Rick replies, rolling his eyes. "You still seriously expect me to keep these guys in line? Not all of them can be controlled with a creepy-ass magical heart. You're gonna need to get creative."

"That was the plan."

"And?"

"…Put it this way, I've got a way of keeping criminals in check that is water-tight enough that I am bringing it in front of the Secretary of Defense in two days. From there we will take it to the President. He's a thoughtful, analytical man who will want proof. Which is where the two of you come in –"

"Excuse me?" June gapes, stunned. _The President_? She knew that she was Waller's best bargaining chip for Task Force X: the strongest meta-human on the planet who could also be unequivocally controlled. It was every government's wet dream. She just never thought she would ever go to the White House in her life time. "You want _us_ to come with you?"

"It's because it's not a cut deal," Rick guesses, lifting his chin shrewdly. "They still haven't signed off on this thing, have they?"

Before Waller can reply, however, they are interrupted by Grigg's banging his baton loudly against the front of what looks like a large, cement tube. "Yo _esse_!" He yells. "You got visitors man!"

June deliberately hangs back whilst Rick and Amanda Waller attempt to engage with the meta-human. She's curious. Mainly because after reading his file June is aware that in many ways, Chato Santana is just like her. He, too, had powers he could not understand and could not always control. He too knew what it was like to accidentally kill a loved one. She thinks soberly of his arrest report, which had detailed how he had handed himself over to the police after murdering his wife and two children. It was not the same, and she would not understand his pain – but if anyone could empathise with her guilt after killing Melissa, it would be this man.

She watches as Rick crouches to look through a hatch in the container. "Look buddy," he calls through. "You have a real shot at walking the block again. Have a nice cold beer…a decent meal…a woman…"

" _Look man. You ain't the first to ask and you're not goin' to be the last. I'm a man, okay? I ain't no weapon."_

June cranes her neck just in time to see firey letters turn to ash in the air. _BYE._

Waller rolls her eyes, looking vaguely exasperated as she straightens back up. June swears she hears the older woman mutter something like ' _coward'_ under breath, but can't be sure. The word rankles her, and she grabs Rick's sleeve before he, too, can walk away. "Wait a second. I want to talk to him."

Rick looks down at her and June can practically see him going through all the potential dangers in his head. But even he must know that the threat to June's life is almost negligible. The container walls must be almost a meter thick and the man himself looks about as likely to use his powers as Rick is to start exhibiting surprise meta-human abilities. Eventually, he nods.

"Be quick," he mutters, reluctantly.

Hesitantly, June turns and approaches the small, round peep-hole. For the first time she sees Chato Santana. If the man was ever a remotely threatening presence on the streets, June fails to see it in him now. He is sat cross-legged, as if in meditation, and there is an air of despondency to the slope of his shoulders. If he had ever ruled the neighbourhoods of LA, he had long since given that life up. All that remained of that past were the gang tattoos that covered every inch of his body – across his bicep, June thinks she can make out the image of a woman's smiling face. She feels her face soften with pity.

"My name is June Moone –"

Santana doesn't even lift his head. "I don't care," he mutters, his voice husky.

But June ignores him. "- I just – I wanted to talk to you because…you're not the only one with powers you can't control…" June hesitates, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She doesn't like to admit about the Enchantress to just anyone, so she hedges her bets. Though she doesn't categorically come under the same definition of 'meta-human' as Santana does, it's still pretty much the same thing. "I know what it feels like when being a meta human is more of a – a – curse than a blessing. If I could go back in time and change what happened to me, I would do it in a heartbeat. I've killed and I've hurt some good people -"

"You can't change that," Santana interrupts. His gaze meets hers, though it's more of a glower. "Ever. That shit is gonna stay with you, and you best learn to live with it."

"Like you are?" June replies, looking pointedly around his cramped container. Chato's head just about brushes the ceiling and he has to hunch his knees up against the walls. It's not a place for a human being to spend their life. June wracks her brains, trying to think. "You could join this Task Force. Think of it as…a recompense for your sins," she says, quoting what Amanda Waller had once told her. "Use your powers for good."

Santana snorts at her words, shrugging his shoulders against the cramped space around him as if he is subconsciously dying to get out. "Keep tellin' yourself that, girl. Those motherfuckers don't give a fuck about you and me. They just turn us into weapons, and I'll die before I become anyone's bitch. You ain't human to them." A chill runs up June's spine and she swallows. Her mind flashes back to the cage A.R.G.U.S had built her. Her weekly tests where she had been poked and prodded with needles. Nobody had asked her back then how she felt. They hadn't cared. June Moone as a person had not factored into their equations. "You best run, bitch –" Santana's voice seems to echo in the limited space and June backs up from the peep-hole slightly. "- 'fore it's too late for you."

There's a loud clang as Grigg's slams the hatch shut over the peep-hole and June jumps at the violent sound. "Yeah, preach it amigo," he calls in, sarcastically. "Let me know if you get cramp in there. We can get you doin' a bit of hot yoga to loosen up or some shit."

June merely stands out in the drizzle, feeling her blouse and pencil skirt turning damp. She can feel that the blood has drained from her face, and knows that her skin must be white. She shouldn't let the inmates get to her. She knows that these are people who have been thrown in a hole and have given up on hope…something she had _refused_ to do. She still had so much to give and so much to fight for. But June can't help but feel like she could have just as easily ended up on the other side of those cell doors.

* * *

 **HARLEY QUINN**

* * *

June is quiet as they are led to their final Task Force member – Harley Quinn. She's so lost in her own thoughts that she doesn't notice that they are getting steadily deeper into Belle Reve – approaching the very center of the facility. The corridors are still as dark and dingy as ever, and June's vision seems to slip and slide. Sometimes, she is convinced the walls about her are made of earth and skulls rather than man-made concrete. Part of her is convinced she can hear her name on some, non-existent wind. _…June_ …

As if sleep-walking, June finds herself moving forwards to Amanda Waller's side. "The heart?" she asks the older woman, having distinctly noticed the absence of the metal briefcase from her person. "Where is it?"

Almost the moment the words leave her mouth, June's hand flies to her throat – as if attempting to contain the words that had gotten out. Her eyes turn wide, and Waller's lips twitch understandingly.

"Careful Doctor Moone, your witch is showing."

"She – she – she hasn't tried to talk through me in so long–" June stutters, aware that her hands are shaking. She hadn't been paying attention. The Enchantress must have taken advantage of her preoccupation. "Not since –" but June can't finish her sentence, not even wanting to think about Mexico.

Waller nods to herself, coolly following Captain Grigg's through the prison as if June had merely been asking about the weather. "You see now why we can't risk you knowing any vital information. We can't afford for you to know the details of our research and you can't know where we keep her heart. It would jeopardize everything – including every single one of our lives. Rest assured, though," says Waller, retrieving her phone from her suit pocket and waving it, "- I can obliterate that witch to nothing. I don't need a bucket of water or any hocus-pocus magic tricks, all I have to do is press one button and she's dead."

"She wants that heart," June mutters, still massaging her throat gingerly. "Badly."

"We're ready for her," Waller returns, confidently. "I'd like to see her try."

Grigg's finally leads them up to a thick door of reinforced metal and June can't help but feel slight trepidation as he turns a wheel to unlock it. All the inmates she had met so far had been unnerving in their own way, but Harley Quinn would be the first who was _actually_ insane. It worried her that Rick would be so closely involved to someone who had links to the Joker. She didn't want to return home one day to find their house gutted and torched by mobsters.

June notices that Rick himself looks slightly tense. Or, at least, even more tense than he had been for the duration of their time in Belle Reve. He's suddenly standing very straight and much closer to her than normal.

"Are you alright?" she asks, looking up at him with a slight frown on her face.

"Yeah – just – don't go getting' too close to this one, alrigh'? The less time we spend with Harley Quinn, the better."

"At some point down the line, we're supposed to be working with her," June points outs.

Rick just crosses his arms tightly, his southern accent becoming more prominent. "Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it," he drawls, sceptically.

"You're not _scared_ are you?"

"Don't knock him, sweetheart," Grigg's tells her, as he opens the door. "I've seen this girl take down guys twice the size of him. When she puts in maximum effort, she could definitely kill the two of you in, like, three seconds flat. _Trust me_." He steps to one side and gestures for them to go first. "Okay, Batman and Robin, after you."

"Batman?" Rick questions Grigg's, raising an eyebrow as he steps through the door.

" _Yeah_ \- no, _she's_ Batman. You're Robin."

June smirks despite herself as she follows Rick.

Instead of coming out at another tunnel, June instead finds herself on a narrow walk-way that snakes across the parameter of a large, open space. The ceiling is intermittently broken with sky-lights coated with algae from the swamp, which allow a kind of greenish light to filter down from above. Below them is a single, lone cage in which June can just about make out a woman. Harley Quinn.

June shares a look with Rick before glancing back over her shoulder at Amanda Waller. The head of A.R.G.U.S merely nods once, indicating for June to approach the cage.

She follows Rick down a set of stairs, intrigued despite herself. Harley Quinn was the only criminal in the Task Force that June had been aware of prior to Amanda Waller handing her the Task Force X files. The woman was famous for being infamous; as much a celebrity as Batman or the Joker and dangerous in her own right. In the year since Harley Quinn had first appeared on the streets of Gotham, June had seen countless video clips on the news of the woman wreaking havoc in the streets – read dozens of newspaper reports questioning the power these new, fearless brand of criminals held.

And yet…the Harley Quinn June sees in the cage is nothing like the one she had seen on her TV screen. Gone are the bright bubble-gum colours and the tiny, child-like clothing. The woman in the cell is sickly-looking, her long blonde hair bedraggled. Without her heeled boots, she is much smaller than June would have expected.

"That's far enough," Rick says to June, his voice tight. His hand clamps down on her shoulder, preventing her from getting much closer to the cage. She watches from a distance as Harley pads bare-foot up to the bars, wrapping her hands around the metal.

"I remember you," she says to Rick, a slow grin forming across her face. "The _sol-dier_." Her tongue lingers on each syllable of the word and June shifts from foot to foot uneasily. Harley talked like someone who toyed with their food…or like a predator pushing its prey around before they killed it. "You didn't look at me the way most fellas' do…which means you're either _gay_ or your _tak-en_." Her gaze swings to June. "I'm guessin' it's the last one...and I'm _guessin'_ it's _her_."

Rick half smirks, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Nice try, but you're wrong."

"I don't think I am, puddin'. I'm a psychiatrist, I'm good at seein' the things people don't want me to know. And _this_ one here –" she re-wraps her fingers more tightly round the bars, her eyes glinting with malign mischief as she looks at June. "All buttoned up and neat and cute, well I bet she just appealed to a soldier like you…I mean, I know you gotta have killed a lotta people. An' judgin' by the fact that you're both here together, I'm guessin' you met on the job….Workplace romances are just so… _hot_ don'tcha think?" She bites down on her lip, her mouth quirking in what could have been a demure smile or a smirk. "I know when Mistah J finally bent me over that table –"

June feels a hot, fierce blush rise up into her cheeks and she averts her gaze, pulling on the hem of her skirt subconsciously. She can't help but think of earlier that week when Rick had fucked her on their kitchen table. It's not the right place or the right time to be thinking about something like that, and the embarrassment is jarring. She knows that's the effect that blonde woman wanted to have.

Harley rolls her eyes at both their expressions. "Don't even _try_ to deny it," she chastises, tapping the side of her head with a finger. "I am _way_ smarter than both of you."

"We're nothing like you and the Joker," June tells her quietly, finally able to unstick her throat. In her peripheral, Rick twitches like a spider, and June knows why: she's just basically admitted that they are guilty of the exact thing Harley is insinuating. It's not a smart move, but the ex-psychiatrist has succeeded in getting under June's skin in a way that none of the other inmates have been able to.

Harley raises both eyebrows, prowling further down her cage to stand in front of June. "Oh _please_ honey, you are _everything_ I was a year ago - right down to the glasses, the knee-length pencil skirt and the sensible foot-wear," she ticks off on her fingers, looking June up and down. "You'll go from normal small-town girl to bat-shit crazy before you know what's happened to ya."

"Yeah, the only difference is, June didn't fall for a guy with green hair and a full-on grill," Rick snorts, though there's a slight sneer on his face. "How many drinks do you have to get in you before you can do that?"

"Er – wouldn't insult the Joker, man," Grigg's calls down to Rick from up on the walkway. His voice echoes round the expansive space. "Bad move. She don't like that."

Harley shoots Rick a nasty look and June edges slightly closer to him. "My puddin' is an _artist_ –"

"Oh, he's an _artist.._ huh _…_ y'know…and here _I_ was, thinkin' he was just a psychotic criminal douche-bag who fucked his woman up in the head real good and left her to rot in jail –"

" – Rick –" June murmurs under her breath, reaching out to grip his forearm. _Stop_ , she thinks. Maybe it wasn't just her who had been nettled by Harley Quinn, but God-knew why Rick was being so bull-headed about it. She wishes he'd follow his own advice and shut up.

" – I don't know..." Rick continues, shrugging June off. "…just sounds more like a horror side-show than a love story to me."

Harley's eyes are so dark, they are almost black. For a moment, her gaze is fixed on Rick before she begins to laugh – though it's more of a cackle, really.

" _Wow_ ," she giggles. "You must really love the view up on that moral high ground, mister. But let me tell ya something:" she says, her expression abruptly fierce. "I don't _hide_ anything. What me and Mistah J have is real and it's true and it's dark and – _yeah_ – I love it…because when we're together we're both _free._ We don't have to live up to anybody's expectations. We don't have to answer to nobody. We rule Gotham. Gotham answers to _us_ , ya here me? An' I bet there's a little piece of _you_ that wants to give that to _her_ …amiright? Just take her away some place and make her a Queen…no rules to follow…no… _strings_ attached –" Harley's gaze flickers up to Amanda Waller pointedly and she walks her fingers up the length of a bar. "You get to do whatever. You. Want."

Rick's hands have clenched into fists and June can feel the tendons in his muscles standing out beneath her fingers. His whole body is so rigid and tense that for a moment she's afraid that he might say or do something stupid.

"Don't listen to her," she whispers to him, urgently. "She's just trying to get inside your head."

"And it's _wooorkkkinnnng_ ," Harley sniggers. " _Look_ at his face –"

"I think we're done, here," Rick snaps, suddenly. His voice is deathly calm and level, but June knows better than to take his reaction at face value. She can still feel the tension radiating off of him in waves.

"One of these days, I'm gonna get out of this cage, sweet-pea -" Harley calls after Rick as he attempts to guide June back up the stairs. "But you ain't _eva_ gettin' out of yours!"

* * *

 **A/N** Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and also thank you to the readers who pointed out the little mistakes - like June saying the Enchantress's name. I like this story to be as thorough on details as possible, so I really don't mind it when you guys 'nit-pick'. Feel free to point out any little mistakes I may have missed. I self-edit, and sometimes a fresh pair of eyes makes the world of difference!

I know you guys wanted to see Rick's response to Belle Reve, but seeing as I already covered that in Chapter 15 I really felt like I needed to write from June's perspective. Don't worry, though, the two of them will still be at the prison next chapter dealing with the fall-out from what you see here!

Remember to **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	32. Chapter 32

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 32**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

The moment he gets the opportunity to, Rick corners Amanda Waller in Griggs' cramped, small office. He's shrugged out of his jacket, as if subconsciously preparing for a fight – still stewing with suppressed anger.

If he was thinking straight, he'd see the irony in the fact that he had tried to warn June against talking in the hopes that the inmates wouldn't get inside of her head and scare her. It wasn't June they had managed to freak out. He's on edge, pacing up and down the room.

"I know that everyone is a coward about something…I just never figured that your weakness would be a twenty-six year old woman who still wears her hair in pigtails," Waller tells him, coolly. She folds her arms, utterly indifferent to his irritation. Her message is clear: _pull yourself together._

"Yeah, well, in amongst all the crazy she actually started talkin' some sense," he bites back, rubbing at his upper lip. "You're usin' my relationship to get me to do what you want."

"Well, if you'd done your job right instead of falling for her –"

" _Give me a break_ –" Rick snaps too loudly, rounding on Waller. The height difference between them is enough that he physically dwarfs her and he's angry enough that any other person would have easily been intimidated. But the woman doesn't even blink. " – don't pretend like you weren't planning for that to happen the entire time! Don't _pretend_ like my team suddenly moving to Midway doesn't have _anythin'_ to do with you getting me to sign up for this Task Force."

"I fail to see why moving your team to Midway City has anything to do with Task Force X."

"You know why. It means we'd have to move."

Waller's lips curve upwards slightly. "My, my, Colonel. Settled down at last?"

"We're not goin' to live out the rest of our lives bein' pushed around by you. The contracts. The manipulation. It's got to stop," he demands. He looks Waller straight in the eye, his hands on his waist. It feels good to finally say _no more_ – to stand up to Waller and her scheming and her lies. You could push a man too far.

She shifts just barely, resting her weight on her hip more comfortably. The casualness of her stance is at odds with the deadly tone to her voice. "Need I remind you that Miss Moone depends on A.R.G.U.S for survival? Without our compliance your lady friend would stay here strapped to a board in a drug-induced coma. She can no sooner walk away from us as we can walk away from the discovery of the most powerful meta-human on the planet."

Rick tries not to visibly flinch at the visual image Waller has placed in his head. As if he needs the scenario of June as some kind of twisted Sleeping Beauty to add to the long list of ways her life could end horribly and tragically. He tries to collect himself, glancing around the dilapidated office. "…That Quinn girl's right…we ain't free. You might as well just lock us both up here too an' be done with it."

"That's being dramatic."

"But it would make things easier for you. Havin' so many evil schemes and pulling so many strings – it's gotta be real tiring," he shoots back, sarcastically.

"It _would_ be easier for me," Waller agrees, stepping closer to Rick in a way that mirrored exactly how he had squared up to her. Her gaze is hooded, giving nothing away. It occurs to Rick that she would make a damn good poker player. She has a knack for making you think you know exactly what kind of cards she's holding, before revealing a different deck altogether. "…which means you should appreciate the fact that I am letting you both play house up in North Carolina. Who knows…somewhere down the line you may even have a family – spawn the anti-Christ or something. That is a privilege the likes of Harley Quinn and Deadshot forfeited when they became criminals….Mr Lawton will never see his daughter again….And as long as I draw breath the Joker will _never_ be reunited with his girlfriend." Waller walks round the side of a desk, running a finger across its surface as she apparently contemplates something. "Look, Flag. I like you – not personally - but I like you for this job. You're professional, you don't take bullshit and you know how to run a team. There's no one out there who can lead these low-lives better than you could. As far as I can tell, Doctor Moone is already on board…So - " Waller comes to a stop behind the table, bracing her hands against the back of a chair calmly. " - what's stopping you?"

Rick feels his lip tug upwards into a sneer. "I don't know?" he replies, dryly. "Might have somethin' to do with the fact you expect me and June to run covert missions with that fuckin' freak-show in tow?! It's not safe for her. It's not safe for me. We'll either end up carrying them…or they'll get in the way…or they'll just shoot both of us in the back of the head first chance they get….It just…it doesn't make sense to use them! Why not bring in my guys? They're actually trained. They can follow orders. June doesn't have to be involved in any of this."

By way of response, Waller fishes round for something in her pocket before throwing a small circular chip down on the desk between them. Rick looks at it, noting that it looks electronic. Some kind of tracking device, maybe.

"What is that?" he demands, looking back up at Waller.

"It's a nanite," she replies, levelly. "You inject it underneath the skin. Normally, this is a tracking device, but we've made a few upgrades. I press a button, and this thing can blow someone's head off." Rick opens his mouth – about to argue – but Waller continues without allowing for an interjection. "I believe you also asked why we can't use your men….As a war veteran, I thought you would understand, Colonel. Turn on the news. You'll see that America tends to mourn the loss of brave young men. Think of the publicity around Vietnam. Politics changed. We have to be more careful about what we intervene in and the legitimacy of our actions. But we use a bunch of criminals to do our dirty work rather than heroes with families, and suddenly no one cares about the legitimacy of our actions as long as the right results are delivered. Something goes wrong, we can throw them under the bus."

Rick refuses to be drawn in, however. Waller is good at presenting the idea of using _meta-human criminals_ as some kind of water-tight, logical endeavour. She would probably be able to talk him or June into strapping a bomb to their chest if she tried hard enough. But there's a difference between sitting round a board room table and convincing government officials that your idea is bullet-proof, and having to actually execute it on the ground. Rick knows that in control rooms, hundreds of miles away, 'blips' can be imperfect – a problem. But out in the field life is a hell of a lot more unforgiving. Mistakes mean the death. Waller may be able to convince every Congressman in Washington that Task Force X is a good idea, but the person she really needs to persuade is him. "So what happens to me and June if things go south? You chuck us to the wolves as well?" he questions, bluntly.

But Amanda Waller merely shrugs. "Miss Moone lives to fight another day; she can't be killed. Her first priority in the event of mission failure would be to get the two of you out of there. We already know that the witch can teleport. You could be in Bahrain and it would be easy for you both to leave them stranded in a war zone…best of all, there would be no paper trail leading back to us."

Rick hesitates. Despite himself, he is beginning to see how this could work. If he can manage to train those scumbags into a semi-functional unit; one that would follow orders and keep their mouths shut during covert ops, they might just have a shot at succeeding. Waller was right – it was too difficult in the current political climate to mobilize troops…it wasn't exactly ethical, but Task Force X was a loophole. A way of ducking an awful lot of red-tape to get the job done without worrying about policy or public reaction.

"You've thought this through," he admits, begrudgingly.

"It's my job to."

He rolls his eyes. " - I still don't trust you."

Waller's lips quirk at that. It still catches him off-guard what she finds amusing and what she does not. Her face barely deviates from the same, bored expression and then someone could mention drowning puppies and she'd smirk. "That's the first step to getting to know me, Flag. If you don't trust me, at least trust me to do the job right."

"Yeah, well, you don't do anythin' half-assed I'll give you that," he grunts. He looks at her to see that she is regarding one of the CCTV monitors thoughtfully – the one that shows an aerial view of Harley Quinn's cage. "She got to you," Waller says, eventually, tapping her chin with one finger. "Out of all of them…she was the one that got under your skin. Why?"

Rick narrows his eyes impatiently. "I wasn't expectin' her to go all Sherlock Holmes on me. It caught me off guard."

Waller nods to herself. "She's smart. Smarter than the Joker. People underestimate her because they think she's crazy –"

" – which she is – " he scoffs. The girl had been completely insane. Off her rocker. It made his stomach turn to acid to think that the Joker had done that to her in just a few months…and to think that she was still devoted to him so completely. How could she not see that the reason she was in Belle Reve was because that fucker had _let_ her be caught? What kind of man saved his own worthless hide over the woman he loved? Rick couldn't understand it.

"- and you learnt to your cost what happens to those who underestimate Harley Quinn," Waller reminds him, evenly. "She spotted your weakness and she exploited it. You couldn't control your emotions. It made it easy for her."

He ignores the dig, using sarcasm by way of deflection. "If she's so smart, how come she ended up falling for a serial killer?"

"Love is blind," Waller shrugs. "Speaking of – Miss Moone, I know you're hiding outside."

Rick whirls round in time to see June nudge open the office door a little further. She's blushing, and it's clear that she wasn't expecting to be caught. Rick almost rolls his eyes – _of course_ June would be eavesdropping outside the door, and of course she would be so tactless about it she'd get caught.

"Our khaleesi is here," Amanda Waller remarks, dryly. "Good."

"You watch Game of Thrones?" June asks, raising both eyebrows. She steps further into the room, unconsciously gravitating towards Rick. June had been right when she said she wouldn't leave his side. These days, it didn't even seem to be a conscious act of will. They are constantly at one another's side.

"You're my ticket to selling this to Washington. If I show them what that witch is capable of, they'll sign off on any and all of A.R.G.U.S's projects from now 'til eternity."

"Right…those amazing, impressive abilities I'm not allowed to know about," June nods.

"Right," Waller echoes. She clasps her hands in front of her, surveying the two of them. "I trust you've both made your decisions?"

"Yes," June answers, easily.

It is more the ease of that response that _finally_ allows Rick to make his mind up. He had promised June's family he would take care of her and whilst they had both agreed that if he didn't sign up, she wouldn't either, he knows there is very little he can say to stop her. If he felt like she was being coerced into this…if there was the slightest flicker of hesitation, he would not have let her do it. But she was sure. And there was a demon in June that was fighting to get out. Task Force X, whilst giving that demon a chance to walk again, also paradoxically gave it limitations and parameters. It gave it a use, instead of passing the time simply tormenting June herself. It gave her a way to control it.

"…yeah," Rick replies begrudgingly. "We'll do it."

Waller barely even looks pleased – doesn't even acknowledge the fact that they have finally agreed to something she has been working towards since she first discovered June months and months ago. "We'll leave Belle Reve within the hour," she says – all business. "Feel free to take what files you need, I need to clear a few things up with Captain Grigg's before we go."

Rick automatically strides forward to pick up the binder Waller leaves behind her. It is the same one she had given June – marked with _CLASSIFIED_ across the front. He figures if he's going to lead these guys, he might as well start digging up the dirt now. He needs to know everything about them – everything about what made them tick. Subconsciously, he is already planning a training course to put them through. Whilst all of them would be able to fight, they would have no _idea_ how to operate on a covert mission – how to keep undetected, how to communicate.

"Alrigh'," he says, opening the binder and looking through what mostly seems to be arrest and custody reports. "Let's take a look at what we got here." He looks over his shoulder at June, whose eyes have fallen on the screen displaying Harley Quinn's cage thoughtfully. The girl is now hanging upside down from some knotted sheets like a trapeze artist. "Hey –" he calls out to June, to get her attention. "You're supposed to be looking with me."

June visibly jumps. "Oh, sorry!" He can hear her approach from behind him as he returns to the folder, flipping pages at random. "Anything useful?" she asks, curiously.

Rick snorts to himself. "Define useful. They're not exactly Superman."

Needless to say the skill-set detailed is…colourful and…varied. He has seen a lot of guys who were more than proficient with numerous different types of gun. Guys who could shoot snipers, operate tanks and hold their own in hand-to-hand combat. He had yet to come across anyone who had killed another person with a boomerang, however. Rick raises both eyebrows. "…He's a crocodile and he…eats people…" he notes, dryly - looking at a mug-shot of Killer Croc. The next page is Deadshot. "…shoots people…she's just crazy –" he says, dismissively, flipping the page on Harley Quinn. He didn't know about Waller, but in his book, _crazy_ was a liability, not a strength. He didn't care the chick was apparently fearless. A rabid dog might be useful in a fight – but it didn't tend to distinguish between owner and enemy, either. He eyes June over his shoulder. "What do you think of all this?"

"Er – I think… _yeah_ …" she says – her voice going high in the way it does when she's trying to be diplomatic about something.

"'Yeah' isn't an opinion," Rick reminds June, smirking. He turns to face her fully, his chest brushing hers.

"Okay…" she begins slowly, smoothing her hands against his shoulders in what is an apparently absentminded gesture. Her face is serious as she genuinely considers his question. "I think…that…I have seen you work with meta-humans as long as I've known you…I've seen how much your team trust you…and I think that Waller is right. If anyone can make this Task Force work, it's you."

His sigh is barely perceptible as he looks down at her. "You're deliberately ignoring the part where the woman I love is on this team, too," he mutters, thickly, as her fingers trace the collar of his T Shirt. "An' you're forgetting that whilst I'm keeping a team of criminals in order, I've also constantly got an eye on her, makin' sure she's safe. I've got to be makin' decisions, but I'm also gonna be worryin' about the consequences those decisions have for her."

"You don't have to be worried about me," June tells him, softly – though she's wearing a slight smile as if even _she_ knows that's like telling water not to be wet. "I can't die Rick."

"Well I wasn't a massive fan of seeing you get shot in the head," he reminds her, darkly, rolling his eyes. Despite his words, however, June's physical proximity is unconsciously causing him to relax. Her palms rubbing against his chest is soothing and Rick feels his shoulders un-tense. He exhales slightly as June steps even closer.

"We're doing this together – we're a team…It's not like you're in this alone," she promises. "I'll help as much as I can."

"Uhuh? I'd like to see you try and intimidate Deadshot into takin' orders."

"I think the witch inside of me is _more_ than capable of scaring them into doing what you say."

Rick makes a sound in the back of his throat. "Don't talk about her when –"

"When what?"

"When I'm about to kiss you," he protests, grimacing slightly – though his eyes are glint when he lowers his head to capture June's lips with his own. He can't resist, really. The moment she had stepped in close it was an automatic, physical reaction his body was now conditioned into responding with. Rick feels June bunch up the material of his T Shirt in a fist.

"That was a good line," she grins as she tugs him gently backwards until he's crowding her against a cabinet of files.

"Mmm?" he mumbles, too preoccupied with the sight of June's eyes flashing mischievously behind those wire-rimmed glasses he somehow found so sexy. Maybe it was the whole hot-librarian look. Maybe the Quinn girl was right; maybe he found June most appealing when she was 'all-buttoned up'. The thought would bother him more if he didn't take so much pleasure in making her breath hitch as he snakes his hands around her waist. She's all bravado when she's teasing him, but despite the fact they've been 'together' for almost two months now, it is still too easy to make June blush.

The material of her blouse is soft and silky against his fingers and June is more than compliant as he presses her further against the cabinet. Rick kisses her slowly – possessively. It's hard not to think about what they have just seen. The way the inmates had tried to strip her down in their own, fucked-up way; she had been leered at, insulted, picked apart. He had been proud of the way she had kept her cool. And – paradoxically – he had been proud of the way she had conveniently forgotten her promise that she wouldn't speak. When June had stepped in to protect Deadshot, despite having known the man for seconds, he had felt irritated that she couldn't follow instructions, but also a dim sense of pride. June had values, and she stood up to defend those values. She was kind. Annoyingly, Harley Quinn was right. A lifetime of war had made him crave someone who could break his cynicism. Introduce a little light and a little faith in humanity back into his world.

His hands skate over June's hips that are hugged tightly by her beige pencil skirt and Rick subtly presses his knee between her legs. Both their breathing has become noticeably heavier as he deepens the kiss. He's not sure where he's taking this or at what point they're going to stop – he just knows that in this moment he's too preoccupied with wanting to show her exactly how much she means to him to let go just yet.

It's not until he starts undoing her blouse that June freezes. "We need to stop."

"No-one's going to walk in," he mutters in her ear. "Trust me."

"No – I mean – there's camera's in here –" June blushes, hastily trying to re-do her buttons at the same time as she points to whatever has caught her eye in the corner of the room. Sure enough, when Rick follows her gaze, a small red light winks back at him. He almost growls. Doubtlessly, they would have given Grigg's and the other slimy guards a free show. The thought is an instant mood-killer.

"Great –" Rick mutters, stepping away from her and putting a sizeable amount of room between them.

June, still looking vaguely flustered, pecks him on the cheek. "Sorry…I'm not trying to be a tease or anything…Besides, knowing Waller she's probably rented us out a really fancy hotel room in D.C. It'll be a lot nicer _there_ than it is _here_." She looks around the office, wrinkling her nose at the patches of damp on the ceiling and the messy mountains of paperwork.

Rick watches June scoop up the file and head for the door, rubbing at his temples.

What, between feeling now vaguely sexually frustrated, Waller, the meeting at D.C. and knowing that he is in charge of training what his guys call the 'Suicide Squad', he's feeling a wicked headache coming on. June notices and smiles pityingly.

"C'mon," she says, hovering at the door – the file clutched to her chest. "In a few hours you can have a bath…order room service…watch some TV…"

"…in a few hours we'll be in D.C." Even in his head, it sounds too fast. Everything is happening so quickly – but he should have known that from the moment he and June agreed to Task Force X, Waller would have meticulously prepared everything after. Tomorrow, they would be in the White House.

"…okay, in a few hours we'll be in D.C…which is a _really_ long way away from Belle Reve – how's that?"

He smirks, following June out of the office. "Better."

* * *

Sure enough, the hotel they are booked into in D.C. that evening is so fancy, the bed has silk sheets. It is significantly colder in Washington than it was in Lousiana, and frost bites at the windows.

Standing in the middle of the hotel room towel drying his hair after his shower, Rick finds that for the first time that day his brain is not churning with a million different thoughts and ideas. This is the restful part of the whole ordeal, a little like taking a cross-country flight when you look out of the window and realise you are still somewhere around Ohio. He knows that they will be busy tomorrow. He will be called upon to give his professional opinion. He'll have to start thinking about how he's actually going to train these criminals. At some point, he will have to tell Grant and Rooster and the others what he has agreed to. But for now, Rick is in limbo; or more specifically, in this hotel room in Washington D.C. with June for the night – with nothing to do but watch TV and order room service.

June is sat cross-legged on the huge, King-sized bed, flipping through a fancy-looking menu she had fished out of a draw. Her hair is now down and she's changed out of her blouse and skirt into her underwear and one of his sweatshirts, which is more than too big for her. Despite the fact that June's hair is knotted and she's long since taken off her makeup, Rick thinks that he couldn't love her more than when she's like this. Maybe it's because she's wearing his old sweatshirt, or maybe it's because she's still wearing her glasses. He moves to stretch out lazily on the covers next to her; only a towel knotted round his waist. He closes his eyes, relaxing.

"What do you think _Foie Gras_ is?" June asks him, not looking up from the menu as her eyes dart across it with interest.

"I have no idea," he replies dryly. He's hardly a food connoisseur. Though Rick would pretty much eat anything, his idea of a fancy restaurant was one that brought out breadsticks before the meal.

"Want to try it?"

He cracks one eye open to peek at the menu. A glance is enough to tell him what he needs to know. "It's an entrée and it costs thirty dollars."

"So? Waller's paying, isn't she?"

He'd roll his eyes if they weren't shut. "It's the principle of it, June," he mutters, stubbornly - half-hoping she'll suggest they ditch the fancy hotel food and order a pizza. "I ain't eating that."

He can sense June's grin, but she doesn't comment, returning to the menu. Rick lets her order whatever she feels like. The bed is seriously comfortable and it's not long before he feels June stretch out next to him – or, rather, practically on top of him.

"Are you alright?" She asks him, her breath tickling his neck.

"'M fine," he replies, his arm coming up to encircle her waist lazily. The sound of only her voice is peaceful.

June's fingers trail across his hip-bone lightly. "Is this towel coming off at any point?"

"You've got room service coming," he reminds her, unconcerned by her wondering hands.

"Timing wasn't an issue in Belle Reve."

"I was kinda wound-up," he replies, defensively. "I needed to…"

"…blow off some steam?" June guesses, as she loosens the knot on the towel and slides her fingers down to grasp him. He begins to harden almost instantly at her touch, and Rick makes a small grunt in the back of his throat as she strokes her thumb up the length of him.

"Somethin' like that," he says, his voice holding an edge of strain as he forces himself to stay relaxed. Already he can feel his thighs starting to tense, remembering how he'd nearly got carried away – would've ripped the damn buttons off of that blouse of hers if he didn't like it so much.

Without lube, June quickly stops using her hand to get him off and shifts to straddle his knees. She bends down and slowly taking him inside her mouth. Rick hisses sharply at the sensation. If there had been any other thoughts in his head before that weren't related to his girlfriend and what she was currently doing to him, they were long gone now. He moves to sit up more so that he can watch her, unable to stop a groan as she begins to suck slightly harder. Her mouth is small and he's big enough that she can't take all of him at once, but he's actually impressed at her technique. His hips are pushing up off the bed but Rick forces himself to stay as still as possible, letting her do her thing. He's wholly unprepared for the raw pleasure that comes from watching June go down on him, but there's also an emotional element that undercuts everything. He realises just how much June thinks about his needs and emotions – and also the visual of her running her tongue along the tip of his dick is blowing his blind.

"Fuck – _June_ –" Rick hisses, his grip tightening on her hair as his hips jerk upwards. She squeezes his balls gently, swirling her tongue around his head before repeating the same, rhythmic movement slightly faster.

He's panting with the effort of not simply exploding - wanting to prolong the moment as long as possible - but eventually Rick feels every single one of the muscles in his legs tighten, lasting only another minute before he comes. He doesn't take his eyes off of June as she straightens up and sits back on her heels. She wipes at her mouth before meeting his gaze almost shyly. Her nostrils flare as she breathes hard through her nose; she's got her lips pressed together in a way that tells Rick she's attempting to fight back a blush. It's not enough – he can already see red blooming across her cheeks and the sight makes his lips quirk. It's not the first time June has gone down on him, but it's the first time she's done it without it leading to sex. Almost as a favour, though it's pretty clear he wasn't the only one enjoying himself.

"Hey –" he says, clearly; leaning over and pushing some of her hair out of her face. He sometimes forgets how shy and awkward June can be – even this long into their relationship. "That was…" he tails off, unsure of what to say. His mind still feels slightly sluggish. "Thank you."

June actually looks relieved, but the blush doesn't leave her face. "You don't have to _thank_ me – I just, I felt bad…Belle Reve wasn't exactly the best timing and you sort of got left high and dry."

"June, there were _cameras_ in that office. I would've murdered Grigg's if they'd caught anythin' on the security tapes."

She winces with embarrassment at the thought, and Rick makes a split decision, rolling off of the bed. He shucks on a pair of boxers before rummaging around in his travel bag on the floor for something. He doesn't have to look long – he knows exactly where it is.

When he turns back to face June, her eyes widen perceptibly and her hands fly up to cover her mouth.

"Rick –" she says, looking at the little black box in his hand. "What –"

He smirks slightly at her reaction. "I was going to give you this tomorrow morning before the meeting, but I figured the timing's better now."

"Tomorrow - ?" June echoes - her voice high. Shock visibly begins to take hold. She's breathing faster – her eyes flicking between the box and him. "How long have you been planning this – when did you –?"

He sits on the edge of the bed next to her, enjoying the stunned look on her face.

"It was a…last minute decision kind of thing."

But June is shaking her head to herself as if she can hardly believe what she's seeing. Her eye are actually slightly teary and she swallows.

Rick decides to end the suspense, flipping the lid. "…I saw these a while back in Carolina and got them for you. It was goin' to be a birthday present…but…" he shrugs.

June semi-chokes as she looks at the silver earrings nestled in a bed of blue velvet. They were in the shape of crescent moons – delicate and small. He hadn't been sure about buying jewellery for her, but he'd seen these and had been pretty sure she'd like them. Her birthday wasn't until November, but he'd figured that with everything going on, she'd appreciate them now.

To Rick's chagrin, however, she's furious.

"You're kidding, right?" June says abruptly - too loudly. She looks winded, as if she's just run a marathon. "You're _kidding_ ," she repeats, her eyes darting from his face to the earrings and back again repeatedly. "I mean – I love them, I do. They're so pretty...But… _you are kidding_?! On what _planet_ was that _funny_!?"

"Alrigh' I –"

"You have a _terrible_ sense of humour," she seethes, hitting her stride. "Really morbid, Rick! I thought you were proposing! I thought you were going to propose!"

The words hang too-loud in the air between them. Suspended glaringly and obviously. In hindsight, Rick realises that he probably shouldn't have made a joke out of it. Whilst June's reaction had been kind of funny, toying with her expectations like that had been a dumb move – and he's not entirely sure what made him do it. He's also not sure if half of June's anger is coming from the latent shock right now or if she is genuinely furious. Either way, he has little chance of heading her off now that she's built herself up to this kind of mood. He knows her well enough to know that June can maintain the silent treatment for days.

"I'm sorry –"

"You don't _do_ that!" June continues, jumping up from the bed and grabbing her wash bag from where she'd thrown it haphazardly onto the floor.

"It was a stupid thing to do," Rick attempts, combing a hand through his hair. "I messed up."

"Yeah, it was. It was juvenile," she snaps, before slamming the door to the bathroom.

* * *

He wakes up in the middle of the night and is instantly wide awake. It's a regular thing – one Rick is used to. It's a miracle if he gets more than five or six hours sleep a night. Still, this is one night he would have preferred to blissfully sleep through unawares. June is curled up in a tight ball of anger underneath the covers – her back to him. Staring up at the dark ceiling of the hotel room, his mind has plenty of time to run through all the crappy things in his life and worry about each thing in minute detail.

" _Shit_ –" Rick mutters to himself, rubbing a hand across his forehead.

He reaches for his laptop, tilting the screen so that the low-level glare won't wake June. The clock on the bottom corner of the screen reads one in the morning. Waller will be meeting them at eight to run through the logistics of the meeting. Rick tries to preoccupy himself with collating information on the members of Task Force X, reading through various news articles on the internet. He almost succeeds in distracting himself from what's really bothering him, but by the time the clock reads three in the morning he forces himself to admit that he's not worrying about Waller, the White House or Task Force X.

What's really bothering him is June.

He can hear the first patter of rain drops against the window as he stares blankly into the black mid-space of the hotel room. Wasn't there a rule that couples should never go to bed angry after an argument? He and June always seemed to. He was normally content to let June sleep on it, promising himself that the next day (or the day after that), she would be fine. But this time he's wondering if they should have stayed awake and sorted out what was really wrong. Because a little voice is nagging in his head…if June had reacted so angrily…did that mean she _didn't_ want him to ever propose? Did it mean she _did_? Had she wanted him to ask her to marry him in that moment?

They had only been going out two months and there were so many complications that meant that theirs was hardly a normal relationship. But Rick also knew that he loved her. He _really_ loved her – right down in his bones. He would do anything for June, and spending the rest of his life with her felt like the most natural step in the world. He resists the urge to swear out loud again as a stab of frustration runs through him. Part of him wishes that that little black jewellery box really had held an engagement ring, but it truly hadn't occurred to him to propose until June thought that that was exactly what he was doing.

Rick remembers the conversation he had had with Rooster in the bar right when he and June had first got together. If he was admitting it to himself, he still in many ways felt old in comparison to her. June was only twenty-six. Soon to be twenty-seven. _Was_ she thinking about settling down yet? Or was having a seven-thousand-year-old witch inside of her and a contract to join a meta-human task force enough on her plate right now? He wants a family – badly – but was that what June wanted? In five years time, Rick would be _forty_. The thought makes him slightly queasy. Did June even _want_ to have a family with someone who was nine years older than herself?

Rick looks across at June's sleeping form, wishing that he could simply wake her up and ask her for the answers to all these questions. He fervently wishes that he _could_ go for that drink with Grant, just to talk things through and get things straight in his head.

He sighs, turning back to look at his laptop screen – reading up on the Joker and Harley Quinn. The information isn't actually relevant, but he guesses he gets some kind of morbid kick out of seeing how people who live outside the law function. Harley Quinn was right. She didn't play by anyone's rules…which is why she probably had no qualms about killing six security guards and an innocent bystander on her fourth break-out from Arkham Asylum on March twenty-fifth of last year.

Rick feels his lip curl into a sneer as he reads the tearful appeal from one of the guard's wives.

He and June…they were nothing like these criminals.

* * *

 **A/N** Apologies for the delay in updating. I've had essays so this fic had to take a back-burner for a while unfortunately!

I've **uploaded** a one-shot Rick x June fic which is a kind of spin off of this story. It's called **Honour Among Thieves** , and I don't want to give anything away here, but I think you guys are going to love it. Check it out!

Thank you for all your continued support. I love that you guys wait so eagerly for updates - it makes me feel bad when I make you wait two weeks for one! I still haven't watched the extended cut of Suicide Squad, but from what I can tell there's an awful lot of Harley Quinn (not that that's a bad thing) and the Joker added and not much of Rick and June. Bummer.

Please remember to leave a **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	33. Chapter 33

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 33**

* * *

 _ **June**_

An unfamiliar alarm goes off that morning, too loud and too early. June, who has been sleeping deeply, jumps out of her skin – sitting bolt upright in the hotel bed. Rick merely groans next to her, rubbing at his forehead tiredly. She can tell by the bags under his eyes that he didn't sleep well last night. June stops the alarm and switches on the bedside light jerkily. The clock reads six A.M.

She looks down at Rick, about to complain about the time – but when their eyes meet June suddenly remembers that she'd gone to bed angry and remembers _why_ she'd gone to bed angry. She stops, catching herself.

"You still mad?" Rick checks, shouldering himself upright so that he's sat up next to her.

"No," June answers, after a moment. And it's true. All traces of irritation have gone from her body and all that is left is a kind of low-level exasperation. She rests her head on his shoulder, sighing. "But, seriously - what on _earth_ were you thinking?"

Rick gives her a sideways look. "You like the earrings though, right?"

" _Yeah_ – I love the earrings. Thank you. It was…it was really nice of you."

He looks slightly smug at her reassurance. "Huh," he mutters, folding his arms. "Good."

June rolls her eyes." – babe, you are the _least_ romantic person I know. You need to work on your delivery or.. _something_. Get a bottle of wine…give the box to me when it's snowing outside…or after a fancy meal…"

"Are we talkin' about the earrings here, or a hypothetical proposal?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. Sure he's teasing her, June tries to fight down a blush, having hoped that he wouldn't mention her embarrassing jump to conclusions last night. Rick had come at her with a _small jewellery box_. In a hotel room. Saying it was a 'special' present. What was she _supposed_ to think?!

"The earrings - if we were talking about a proposal you'd at least need a string quartet," she mocks, trying to keep her voice light-hearted.

"Noted. Why snow?"

"Because snow is magical and special and you're forgetting I spent my childhood in Florida, where there are two seasons: hot and hotter. I didn't see proper snow until I was eighteen."

She feels Rick jerk with surprise, forcing June to lift her head from his shoulder. "You're kidding?" he asks, incredulously.

"Nope."

"So you ain't ever sledged or bunked off school 'cause of snow days?"

"Tragically, no."

"No white Christmas?" he verifies.

June shoots him an amused look as she pushes the covers off of her and rolls out of bed. The dim glow of their bedside lamp is the only thing illuminating the still horribly dark room and she stretches her hands above her head, popping the joints in her spine. "This is really bothering you, isn't it?"

" _Yeah_ \- your childhood was depraved."

June shakes her head at him, smiling, before heading for the bathroom to shower. She thinks how this year will be her first Christmas with Rick in her life, and the thought causes her stomach to flutter.

An hour later June has showered, dried and straightened her hair – pinning it back into a neat bun – and is now impatiently rubbing off the makeup on her left eye for the third time. She tries one more time to re-apply it. For some reason, she can't seem to do anything right this morning. Her eye-liner is either too heavy to look professional, or she smudges it.

From the expansive hotel bathroom, June can hear the crackle of the radio that Rick has presumably turned on. It is almost Thanksgiving, and the radio presenters are talking about the fast approaching holiday season. She had almost forgotten that the average American citizen would be going about their lives, unmired by meta-humans, prisons and government intelligence agencies. Perhaps, June reflects, as she applies mascara one more time, some of those people would say she was lucky to be meeting the President of the United States today.

 _Lucky_.

June stares at her own reflection, abruptly feeling less than festive.

The impending day somehow feels slightly surreal; and not just because she will be visiting the White House. It's the fact that June is being presented as a show. The 'demonstration'. She's not there to impart information, like Rick. She's not there to persuade and cajole, like Waller. Nobody really cares about June, herself. They care about the witch inside of her; the strongest meta-human since Superman. A meta-human that is conveniently dormant inside of her – and conveniently and irrevocably controlled by a heart which is now in Waller's possession. She is a weapon to be used. A bargaining chip.

All June has to do is say the magic word and she's erased herself from existence until the Enchantress or Waller decide to let her back in. It's depressing that about the most useful thing she can do right now is cease to exist in favour of a homicidal six-thousand-year-old witch.

June finishes her routine of getting ready by reaching for the earrings Rick gave her. The blue box sits next to the sink and she fastens each earring in with meticulous care. June actually gives a small smile as she looks at the two little crescent moons studs in her ears. She likes that Rick thought to buy something that goes with her name – a symbol, however small, of her own identity.

June's fingers linger on an earring for several seconds before she walks out of the bathroom – determined to hold her head high in this meeting. She is important in her own right. Her own decisions have led her here. Without her consent, she reminds herself, the Enchantress would not be government property and Task Force X would still be a file in one of Waller's draws. In a way, she is still in control, here. The witch can't get out unless June lets her, after all. And therein lies her greatest source of power.

Rick is already dressed in a black suit and is talking on the phone when she exits the bathroom. He's clearly been out of the hotel already in the search for breakfast: clutching a paper bag in one hand, a pastry in the other that he keeps taking bites out of as he listens to whoever is on the other end of the line. June makes them coffee using the sleek kitchenette in one corner of the room and looks at Rick expectantly when he places the phone back down in its cradle.

"That was the reception desk," he tells June. "Waller's downstairs."

"I'll trade you?" June offers, raising her eyebrows as she holds out one of the two coffees – extra strong, with no milk.

Rick rolls his eyes, swapping the paper-bag for the offered cup. When June looks inside, she moans appreciatively. Croissants. She quickly scoops up her bag from the bed and slings a White House security pass around her neck before following Rick out of the room.

" _Jesus_ ," he grunts, pulling a face as he takes a sip of the coffee, holding the door open for her. "How strong did you make this?"

"Well, I just thought that you looked like you could use the extra caffeine. That's all."

The cup pauses half way to his lips. "…Right," he comments, dryly.

June throws him a sympathetic look as they step into an elevator. "All I mean is you looked tired this morning…Bad night?"

He takes a large gulp of coffee, looking straight ahead as he replies, indifferently: "Nah. I've just got a lot on my plate right now."

She sees through the act instantly. Rick was probably the biggest worrier she had ever met. He's a brilliant strategist and tactician and June knows it's in his nature to sweat over the small stuff that nobody else notices. But Rick is also too experienced and aloof to worry about the Task Force. He has no reason to be as stressed about the White House meeting as she was, which left - "It was our fight, wasn't it?"

"Pretty one-sided fight," he throws back at her, sceptically – confirming June's suspicions.

She sighs, wishing that Rick had spoken up sooner about what was bothering him, rather than choosing to throw it in her face during the forty-second elevator ride down to the ground floor. "Okay – look - I'm sorry about how I reacted. And I _know_ : I shouldn't have been so angry. But I don't know what to say - I – I freaked out!"

They reach the bottom floor and the elevator doors slide open. Rick holds them open with one hand as he presses his tongue to the inside of his cheek. "You freaked out about the thought of marrying me?" he asks, flatly – his eyes shrewd, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

Her mouth falls open in shock. " _No_!" June replies, vehemently. " _No_!? I freaked out because I thought you were treating the whole idea of a proposal as some kind of…of massive _joke_! _You_ were the one that made _me_ feel like an idiot for even _thinking_ you would want to marry me!"

"What?" he shoots back, doing a double-take – now having to strain to hold the elevator doors open to prevent them sliding shut on them.

"Rick you made it look like you were going to propose and then gave me some – very lovely – earrings," June explains, impatiently. "I was upset that you'd messed with my expectations."

He stares at her, slightly stunned, and then swears.

June realises suddenly that he's spent the whole night thinking that she was angry because she _didn't_ want to be proposed to. She realises that thatis what he's been worrying about. Unbidden, she starts to laugh, even though she probably shouldn't. She's not sure if she's laughing at him, or because she's relieved. Rick didn'tthink marriage was stupid, and he hadn't been making fun of it. He had just been teasing her, and hadn't thought of the potential implications or consequences. He had done something dumb, and hadn't really meant it…and she had probably punished him too harshly for it.

"Rick, you thought I didn't ever want to marry you–?" she begins, before breaking off and wrapping her arms around his neck, still holding the paper bag of croissants in one hand and her coffee in the other. " – you're _impossible_ ," she breathes exasperatedly – before withdrawing enough to look up into his face with a kind of rueful affection. "…I _love_ you, okay?"

Rick merely looks back at her with a mixture of chagrin and irritation. "Yeah – okay – next time, June, _tell_ me that instead of giving me the silent treatment for twenty-four hours," he grumbles. "I'm not a mind reader. I just lost an entire night's sleep over a pair of fuckin' earrings."

She winces, letting him go automatically. "… _oh_ , I am _so_ sorry –"

But he merely rolls his eyes, pushing her out of the lift in front of him. "Yeah – I know, I know. You're wearin' them, you like them. That's all that matters. End of story." He points to the reception desk emphatically. "Let's get goin'."

June opens her mouth to shoot something over her shoulder defensively as he half pushes her across the hotel lobby before she notes his stiff, rigid posture and smirks slightly. He looks awkward, embarrassed. Rick's not one for dropping the tough-guy act, and whilst he has been more than vocal about his commitment to her, he's never exactly allowed himself to voice his vulnerabilities or doubts about their relationship. The fact that he stayed up an entire night worrying about their future causes June to both feel touched and guilty.

Outside the hotel the grey, early morning air is cold and fresh. Her breath becomes a white fog the moment she steps outside. A sleek, black limo awaits them on the road and June and Rick climb into the back. Waller is waiting for them in one of her usual, brightly coloured suits – her only acknowledgement of the importance of the day a small string of pearls about her neck. June slides onto the opposite seat, and Waller watches calmly as she exhales into her cupped hands, trying to warm them up.

"…the President, the Secretary of Defence, Admiral Olsen, Dexter Tolliver…"

It takes June a second to realise that Waller is reeling off a list of people that will be attending their meeting.

"…I want to be clear," Waller starts, looking from Rick to June. "These men spend billions of dollars on our national security every year. It's my job to convince them to divert a _fraction_ of that money to a small intelligence branch that has only risen to prominence in the year since a machine laid waste to Metropolis."

Rick tightens his tie as the limo pulls smoothly off of the curb. "So they'll be desperate." He dismisses. "They're gonna throw money at anythin' to do with meta-humans."

"They'll need convincing," Waller disagrees, levelly, not taking her eyes off of June for a second. June shifts in her seat, biting on her lip. She remembers her first trip into A.R.G.U.S – where she had asked Waller for her help. It was strange to think that there had been a time where she had needed to convince the other woman of all of this. Persuade her that she was being possessed by a spirit.

"There's nothing in my DNA…" June replies, shaking her head. "…There's no tangible marker. No _physical_ evidence. They've never seen magic before. You're asking them to believe in a fairy tale. There's about a…50% chance they'll throw us out the room before they see her, and a 50% chance they'll reject us anyway…even if they _do_."

June privately thinks that if her President had any sense, he would run as far away from this – from A.R.G.U.S – as possible.

Waller settles back in her seat, folding her hands together. She looks out of a slightly frosted window for a moment – the buildings of D.C. slowly slipping past. "You know…in times of war, society often makes its greatest leaps in progress," she says, slowly. "When the norm stops working, desperation makes us turn to progress to find something new that will. Did you know that since the Iraq war, our doctors have learnt to grow back muscle? Pretty soon, we'll be able to grow back the entire limbs of soldiers who had them blown to pieces fighting out in some middle-eastern hell-hole. Our soldiers don't work against Superman. They don't work against aliens. We have learnt that to our cost." (Out of the corner of June's eye, she thinks she sees Rick's eyes narrow and reckons he'd fight Waller on that) "- this country needs a new line of defence. It's inevitable. This is the natural order of things."

"And you… _honestly_ think this Task Force X thing is the next step in human evolution?" Rick asks, sarcastically. June thinks back to Belle Reve, remembering how primal the place had felt – almost like an underworld. There had been nothing good down there – only humanity at its raw, naked worst. To Rick, it must be like taking two steps back to take one step forwards. Devolution – desperation - rather than 'progress'. "Really?"

Waller simply ignores him, toying with the string of pearls around her neck. June wonders if someone gave them to her as a present, in the same way Rick had given June the earrings she was wearing now. Did those pearls remind Waller of someone when she touched them? Did they symbolize anything to her?

"We'll give them a demonstration," Waller continues, smoothly. "The President's a cautious guy. He'll want absolute proof. We'll need to show him the potential, here. They need to know what this witch is capable of – and when they know, they won't be able to say no."

June folds her arms even more tightly. Before she can stop herself, she looks around for the heart – but the metal briefcase is nowhere to be seen. "…what are you going to make her do?"

The corner of Waller's mouth lifts slightly, but the smile doesn't reach her eyes. "I've told you before, Doctor Moone, you don't have to concern yourself with what your other half does."

"It _does_ concern me, actually," June shoots back, coolly. "It concerns me that you have unlimited access to the most powerful meta-human on the planet. It's like owning a nuclear weapon, except you don't have to worry about someone firing back."

"Anything else?"

" _Yeah_ ," June continues, surprised at the fierceness in her own voice. "I want your word that the Enchantress will _only_ be called on for Task Force X operations. Nothing else. And I want to be fully de-briefed on exactly how she's used and why after each mission. I want to see some kind of accountability."

Waller rolls her eyes. "I take it you didn't read the contracts Mr Palemero left you."

"Actually, we threw them out," Rick replies, indifferently. "Because they were bullshit."

June fixes Waller with her most unrelenting look, determined not to be defeated on this one issue. "Without me saying so – quite literally – you don't get access to the witch," she insists. "So I want your word on this, otherwise whatever 'demonstration' you're planning for your friends in the White House? It isn't going to work."

The older woman stops toying with her necklace, lowering her hand very slowly. Her black eyes fix on June unblinkingly. "You have no idea what this job entails," Waller says, coolly – the condescension mixed with a hint of menace. "You're too young right now to understand. You don't have a stomach for the hard stuff yet. You might, one day. But this is today, and I _do_. So before you start _dictating_ decisions I have every right and every authority to make, June, just think about the things I have seen – the things I have _done_ and will do again. At the end of the day, I will keep this country safe - because I can make choices that might curl the hair on your pretty little head."

June opens her mouth to shoot back a furious retort. Waller was talking like she _hadn't_ had to make the hardest decisions of her life recently; as if the past few months had been cushiony and plain sailing. Like June was a fresh sapling unused to the dark places. June didn't have a stomach for the tough stuff? She had _killed_ her mentor by accident. She had lived through hauntings and nightmares and horrible, _twisted_ things. She had suffered. This wasn't naivety; these were words spoken from the deepest levels of experience. June knew the dark places.

"Listen to her," Rick interrupts them both, looking at Waller. "She's talkin' sense. I know you ain't a fan of procedures and, you know…rules in general – the United States constitution…human rights laws…"

" – because rules are for cowards, Flag –" Waller mutters under her breath. Rick rolls his eyes.

" – but procedures only work if you follow them…Look, my job is to be responsible for everybody's safety. You operate this thing from the shadows, it's gonna bite you in the ass. Sooner or later, you're gonna make a mistake and they're gonna stick your head on a pike as a cautionary tale to the next sucker who tries to mess with something they shouldn't have."

Waller pretends she hasn't heard him.

When the limo pulls up outside the White House, June's eyes widen. She scoots along the leather seat to all but press her nose up against the window…Everything is so _neat._ The lawns are sweeping and bitten by frost –the American flag flutters in the wind. She can't believe she's really here – that her life has changed this much in five months. Waller is watching her with a suppressed smirk, and June knows that the woman is thinking that her inexperience is probably proving her point.

When June looks across at Rick – her mouth half open – June realises that he's ducked his head slightly to look outside as well – except his eyes are directed upwards to the dark grey, cloudy sky. It looked like the clouds were threatening to split and break at any moment; as if a storm was only moments away.

Sure enough, when Rick helps her out of the car, the cold air is pulled taut – too still.

A man with thick, sharp eyebrows wearing a non-descript suit greets Waller on the smooth steps. June hastily straightens the pass around her neck as he approaches, flipping it so that her security clearance is the right way up.

"Amanda," he says, holding out a hand for her to shake. June notices that the greeting isn't exactly warm – like that between old friends; more like that of co-conspirators.

"Dexter."

"Colonel Flag – always a pleasure –" the man called Dexter Tolliver adds, moving on to Rick. " - And you are?"

" – Doctor June Moone –" June rushes out, too quickly, as the man rounds on her. "I'm an archaeologist with the American Archaeological Institute."

"Of course," Dexter replies, not missing a beat. "You guys are gonna be searched in the lobby. It's standard procedure. Then you're gonna want the first floor, north east-corner. President'll be ready nine thirty – on the dot."

Rick nods – too relaxed as he leads them inside. June watches him give up his Glock, body holster, knife and phone readily to the security guards and wonders how many times he has done this before. She had always known that he was high up in Special Forces, but it isn't until now that she realises just how important he must have been. He's acting like visits to the White House and to the Pentagon are a regular thing.

June hesitates, shrugging out of her blazer and waiting to be waved through a metal detector. Everything in the room is light and airy, belying the strict security. The walls are made from dark oak and fresh looking plants stand in one corner.

"That girl. Is that her?" June hears Dexter mutter to Waller, behind her. "The witch?"

"Yeah."

"She's kinda small."

"She's a pain in my ass," Waller responds, bleakly.

June finds herself smiling slightly as the steely-eyed female security guard waves her through the metal detector. Nothing bleeps, although later when June goes through her pockets, she finds she'd forgotten to hand over her phone. She stashes it away again uneasily – trying to shake off a familiar feeling of paranoia.

"…and she's the solution to all our problems - according to you."

"Honey, _that_ is your salvation."

Tolliver leads them down several, narrow winding corridors until they make it to a surprisingly small and cramped room. The table only seats eight people, and the ceiling is low enough that the place has the vague feeling of a nuclear bunker rather than a board room.

"No. Sit over there –" Waller instructs, when June perches herself on the edge of one of the seats at the top of the table. She and Rick turn to look at a bank of uncomfortable looking chairs that line one wall. "I'll call on you both as of and when I need you," the older woman says, brusquely, as she sets up her laptop on the table. "Until then, keep your mouths shut and let me do the talking."

Rick rolls his eyes slightly, but takes a seat next to June's – his leg pressed up against hers.

"You okay?" he asks, leaning forward to place his elbows on his knees.

June takes a deep breath, twisting her hands in her lap. "I don't know…this isn't like the test sessions. This isn't a – a reinforced facility where someone can zap me if something goes wrong. We're in the _White House_ and there's going to be some of the most important people in our government in this room." June looks up at him, her face tight. She's can't help but think of Melissa's funeral – except this time, no intelligence agency on the planet is going to be able to cover up a mistake here. "…What happens if something goes wrong? I mean, shouldn't there be more security here?"

"Nothing is going to go wrong. Waller's got the heart. The Enchantress has to do what she says, June, you know that. That's how this works."

Sure enough, two men in navy A.R.G.U.S suits enter the room carrying a thick, indestructible-looking briefcase. They lay it down on the table next to Waller's laptop. The heart.

June's leg is jockeying up and down nervously. She glances at the clock on the opposite wall – 9.29. Rick is a pillar of calm at her side. She watches the minute hand tick round to point at the 12.

Waller directs a remote at a large white screen that encompasses one wall. A New Yorker newspaper report is blown up large for everyone to see: SUPERMAN DIES: COUNTRY MOURNS THE LOSS OF A HERO. June looks down at her hands. She wonders how long Amanda Waller has been planning this presentation for. How many times she dreamed of standing in this room. June wonders how she is going to convince anyone to place their faith in magic tricks and criminals.

Without ceremony, the door is wrenched open and a large group of people file in – too many to possibly fit round the small table. A lot of them are decorated with badges and medals: military men. But there are also analysts, assistants and Congressmen. The president steps in last. Dexter Tolliver places a hand on Amanda Waller's shoulder as he walks round her to his seat.

" - _Break a leg_ –" he mutters in her ear.

The President takes a seat at the head of the table as people crowd round the room – making space where there isn't any. A woman with a notepad crams herself into the chair next to June's. She probably has no idea who or what the mousy-looking girl at her side is. June thinks with dark humour that she's probably going to wish she'd chosen somewhere else to sit.

"Alright Ms Waller," the President says, straightening his tie. "You have thirty minutes of my attention. Make it count."

* * *

 **A/N** Whilst I love writing this story, I hate that we are finally getting so close to Rick and June being split up. It's been thirty-three chapters and it had to happen eventually, but still.

Thank you as always for those of you who leave all your thoughts and comments. It makes me smile how much you all love Rick's POV. As for a _real_ proposal…well…you'll know by the end of the fic.

I've uploaded my one-shot, so if any of you are interested in reading any more Rick and June stories check out **Honour Among Thieves** _ **.**_

Please remember to **review** & happy holidays!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	34. Chapter 34

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 34**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

Amanda Waller is true to her word, and June is instantly escorted to another room for de-briefing the moment the pitch is finished.

The White House may not have the kind of high-tech, specialized containment facility that A.R.G.U.S had built specifically for the Enchantress, but Dexter Tolliver does show them into an emergency panic room for staff. It looks the same as most other rooms, with dark oak furniture, a patterned carpet and turn-of-the-century cream wallpaper. However, Rick notes that the door is made of reinforced steel and that there are no windows.

He steps into the room with June tucked safely into his side. She is still visibly shaking, and Rick wonders exactly what it was that freaked her out. What it was that had made her say, emphatically, that she couldn't change into the Enchantress again. June wasn't a quitter.

But she _was_ scared.

He guides her carefully into the nearest seat and attempts to loosen her grip on his suit jacket. Behind them both, Waller, Tolliver and a now-familiar team of A.R.G.U.S doctors and analysts are filling the room. Once upon a time those doctors might have drawn a litre of blood – taped wires to June's forehead and chest. Measured her breathing and heart rate. Taken an MRI scan. It hadn't taken them long to realise that magic didn't manifest itself in any human biological markers, but they had performed the routine enough for Rick and June to become used to it.

Now, the same doctors unpack video equipment and triangulate what look like small satellite dishes around June. Rick knows that these will detect heat signatures, radiation and electrical surges coming off of the witch. He just wishes someone gave more of a damn about his girlfriend.

These sessions were a crucial part of understanding how magic worked, and he knows that with understanding, they can control the Enchantress better. But part of Rick can't help but think that the _only_ way to understand all this crap lay somewhere in June's memories; in the Enchantress's past. Until then, the suits were merely recording the aftershocks of an earthquake that had occurred thousands of years ago. You wanted to figure out where something came from, it made sense to get straight to the source.

"You okay?" Rick asks June, crouching in front of her as people continue to set up the room around them. He tries to get her to focus just on him, but it's clear that she's still spooked. Her eyes dart restlessly around the room, as if looking for an escape route.

"She's fine," Waller cuts in, not looking up as she shoots off a quick email on her phone. The stocky man called Dexter Tolliver stands next to her, his hands deep in his pockets. Neither of them look remotely scared or concerned on June's behalf.

"I didn't ask you."

"…and yet I answered," Waller replies, sarcastically, walking forwards with an air of impatience. "What happened?" she asks, looking directly down at June.

"I –" June attempts to start, but Dexter Tolliver cuts in.

"You got lucky," he directs at Waller – and just in case she might be feeling at ease with that fact, he saunters right up to her, invading her personal space. "I think you sold the President on this - despite her little melt-down. I thought you were supposed to be selling me the most powerful meta-human on the planet. Not some scared girl."

Dexter speaks with the accusatory tone of someone who has been on the wrong end of a business deal gone sour. Waller doesn't so much as blink. Rick has seen many people try to intimidate her. It never worked. He's long since realised that there was a reason folks called her 'the Wall'.

"I delivered you weapons plans that your own intelligence agencies have been too incompetent to find…what more could you possibly want, Dexter?"

Somehow, Waller's smooth, silky tone makes it sounds more like an invitation than an insult.

She turns back to June – who is still sat, tense and wary, on the hard chair. Waller draws up her own seat to settle directly opposite her.

"Didn't you hear her?! She said she didn't want to do it again!" Rick snaps – knowing what is about to happen. He can feel anger bubbling up inside of him, dangerously hot. Suddenly unable to stay still, he begins to pace like a caged animal. "She ain't a performing monkey."

"You – both of you – were the ones that said this operation needed to have some semblance of procedure. I am carrying that procedure out. The witch needs to be de-briefed. We need to know what else she saw in that weapons vault. We need to know exactly how long it took her to teleport for future operations. We need to know if anyone saw her so we can stop them from talking."

They all look at June expectantly. A.R.G.U.S have finished setting up the room and a naked bulb casts bright, white light onto June's face. She looks resigned – pale. For some reason her eyes keep on darting to Dexter Tolliver. Rick gets the feeling June isn't about to spill what's spooked her to just anyone.

"…don't trust her…" June finally says, her voice hoarse with lack of use. "Don't trust anything she says."

"I think we've all learnt that lesson," Waller returns, evenly.

" _No_ ," June insists, a spark of fierceness flashing in her eyes. She lifts her head, sitting up slightly straighter. "This is me warning you. Don't let her out of your sight. _Don't_ trust her."

Waller merely shifts in her seat to get more comfortable. "Let's see what she's got for us."

Rick is unsure how Waller can stand to be that close to the witch. He can't stand to even be in the same room as it.

At first, however, Rick doesn't think the transformation has worked. After June saysthe witch's name, nothing changes. No flickering of the lights. No darkness. No change in appearance. June…stays June. It's not until she robotically moves her head that Rick realises there's something different. June's blue eyes are watchful…there's something imperious about the lift of her chin. Her body seems too still, and Rick notes that she only breathes through her nose – the sound audible even from where he is standing. It's animal-like. As if she's sniffing the air for something. This isn't June.

Waller's lips quirk, as if something is funny. "Trying to blend in?" She asks, guessing automatically who it is she's really speaking to.

"Humans are more…at ease when they interact with their own kind…You fear me in my true form." June's gaze shifts unblinkingly to Dexter Tolliver, who is avoiding her eyes. "I make you uncomfortable. Animals have their camouflage…why should I not be entitled to my own?"

"Well…no need to go changing your spots," Waller returns – only slightly sardonic. "I don't need you to look like a suburban Soccor Mom, I need a meta-human. That's what I'm interested in, that's what I'm in the market for."

There's a pause, and then June just seems to melt away – as if to reveal the Enchantress beneath. It's unsettling to watch, and Rick has to forcibly remind himself that June isn't just a wrap or a cover behind which the witch is hiding. June is a _person_. This was just a bad re-make of Invasion of the Body Snatchers.

"' _Meta-human'_ ," the Enchantress quotes, now in her true form. Now that she's not using June's voice, her own is raspy and distorted – as if it's being magnified from miles away. "Why do you call me that?"

"Because that's what you are."

The witch twists the chains around her neck between her finger-tips, as if counting the beads on a rosary. " _Did it bother you…_?" she rasps, eventually. " _When your tests didn't work. When you could not find a mutation. Something…tangible to isolate and understand_?"

"I understand all I need to. I understand if I crush that heart, you'll die." Waller catches the Enchantress casting around the room and rolls her eyes. "It's not here. But I press a button, and someone will do it for me."

" _I am a God…do you really think you can control me?"_

"I do."

"… _The arrogance of humans never fails to astound me_."

"Yeah, well, the arrogance of meta-humans never fails to surprise me. You all think you're indestructible because a mutation in your genetic codes turned you into freaks. I've found in my line of work the opposite is usually true. The bigger you are, the harder you fall. You normally take a couple of our cities down with you, but you all die the same."

Rick is half-impressed, despite himself. Waller is sat facing the Enchantress as if the witch is merely a coffee-grabbing intern rather than a being thousands of years old that is now a vital part of American international security. The witch might insist she was a deity, but it was clear Waller didn't care if she'd been worshipped in a past life or not. To her she was just another meta-human. Nothing more. Nothing less.

The Enchantress pauses, looking quizzical. " _Freaks_?"

"Monsters."

" _I wasn't a monster. I was worshipped. For centuries."_

"Until you couldn't hide your trust colours," Waller replies, straightening the sleeves of her suit. "Then they turned on you. As we will turn on you, if you become a threat."

A slight sneer tugs at the Enchantress's upper lip, but Waller is all business.

"Roll the tape," she instructs the nearest doctor – who instantly strides over and starts the film on the video camera mounted on a sleek tripod. Waller stands from her chair, clasping her hands behind her back. "Tell us what else you saw in the weapons vault. Did you see any files regarding the placement of missiles in the middle-east?"

The questioning goes on for a solid hour. Rick doesn't relax for a single second of it. He leans up against the wall with his arms folded, chewing on a piece of gum – a deceptively relaxed posture. He's fully prepared to draw and shoot his gun at the slightest provocation.

June's words keep ringing in his ears.

 _Don't trust her_.

Rick never had. Not from the beginning. There had been times when Rick was worried to leave June alone for five minutes because _that_ was how much he hadn't trusted the witch. Even when June had been under the impression that her powers could be used for world peace, he knew that they were dealing with something darker than that. Though June had probably been right – maybe the Enchantress's powers _could_ have been used to heal the sick and feed the poor – that was never how these things worked out. Power corrupted. And this level of power….it was lethal. He just hoped Waller knew how to use it. Personally, if it wouldn't also kill June, he would have been happier simply crushing the heart and wiping the Enchantress off the face of the earth forever.

"Okay, I think we're about done. Wrap it up," Waller says to the analyst typing away feverishly on her laptop as she records the data from the miniature satellite dishes.

Rick watches as Waller approaches one of the men in suits, asking him to re-run the film. They debate it, heads close together – doubtlessly comparing how the information compares with their current intel on Tehran. The Enchantress merely continues to sit silently. Rick wonders if the impersonation of a statue is supposed to trick Waller into thinking that the witch doesn't think for herself, but Rick knows that she's always planning. She had waited months to launch her attack in Mexico – manoeuvring and manipulating June to get her back to that temple. Feeding her bits of information until June was convinced she needed to take the heart herself.

It wasn't a stretch of the imagination to think that the witch was cooking up another bid for freedom.

"You think you can do this?"

Dexter Tolliver raises one, bushy eyebrow at Rick as he walks over.

 _What?_ Rick thinks, bitterly. _Watch my girlfriend get possessed by a witch over and over_?

He knows, however, that the government official isn't talking about June. He's talking about the Task Force. He's talking about results, and how efficiently they're going to be delivered. He's talking about his next pay rise.

"Yes sir."

Dexter looks at Rick, mildly impressed. It's clear the guy's never been a soldier. "You've got nerve, I'll give you that. I mean, according to Amanda, it was your task force that put half those criminals in Belle Reve. You ever worry about that?"

Rick suppresses a snort, but only with difficultly. He is perhaps one of the very few people in America who had experience with both criminals and meta-humans: criminal meta-humans aren't what he's worried about. "No."

"Well, it would be a poor show if one of the best special forces commanders in the country got mauled by a bunch villains on the job. Can't you get the guy a bodyguard or something?" he asks, turning to address Waller.

She barely glances up from the screen on the video camera. "We've got something lined up."

"Er – excuse me?" Rick interjects, unimpressed. He shrugs off the wall. "You know I don't need a bodyguard. That's the whole point of stickin' bombs in their necks. They step out of line; they die."

"Which won't work against the Enchantress."

"Which is why we have the heart," Rick stresses, staring at Waller. He's long since managed to get annoyance down cold, and he's using it to full effect now. He can handle himself. He's not scared of the likes of Boomerang or Lawton. Dragging anyone else into this was just one more person put into the line of fire and he doesn't appreciate Waller and the government treating him like some snowflake who hadn't run an op before. They could trust him to get the job done.

Waller finally straightens upright, lifting her gaze from the video camera. Out of his peripheral, Rick thinks he can see the Enchantress watching them closely, but she doesn't make a sound. Rick wonders if this is the kind of information she should be listening in on. They are, after all, listing all the ways they can kill the squad if something goes wrong. It's not exactly endearing.

"What if the heart doesn't work?" Waller throws out, hypothetically. "What if we're not quick enough, and the witch decides to kill you before one of us can damage it? I'm betting money that she can teleport out of that chair and stick a knife in your heart before you and I can blink."

Rick's grits his teeth against his chewing gum. "Your point being?"

"Always have a Plan B," Waller says, her gaze suddenly fixing on the Enchantress. It is clear with that one look that Waller has not forgotten who her audience is. "You're done –" she tells the witch. "The information you gathered for us was very useful. Thank you."

"That's all she gets," Tolliver asks, sceptically, as the Enchantress seems to flicker and de-materialize – leaving June sitting in the chair as if she'd been there all along. "A quick 'thanks' and a gold star?"

"You wanna give her a cookie?" Waller replies, levelly. "Be my guest."

"All I'm saying is maybe we should be giving her some kind of…reward or incentive to work with us rather than relying on that heart. Make it worth her while."

"That woman would destroy the entire human race if she could, Dexter. Her incentive to _comply_ , is that we'll kill her if we don't. I call that pretty motivating."

Rick ignores the both of them – instantly striding over to June. She looks clammy, and the first thing she does is cast around for his face, as usual.

" _Rick_ –" June breathes, stumbling upright and hugging him. He clutches her to him just as tightly, relieved to feel the physical warmth of June's body once more. If he could hold onto these moments – line them up next to one another one by one – maybe they would block out A.R.G.U.S, Task Force X and all the times the Enchantress took over. He might just be able to kid himself that June is always June, and that they are always together.

He rests his chin on top of her head, closing his eyes briefly.

"I'm okay," she mumbles into his chest. "I'm okay."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. She's just…mind games. Making me see things."

Rick abruptly loosens his grip on June enough to lean back and look her in the eye. The tense knot in his chest as he looks at her wide, trusting eyes and freckles might be love or equally it could be concern. "What kind of things? What did she show you?" he asks, almost roughly.

"…I…don't want to talk about it." Her hands move to hold his face reassuringly, registering the agitation there. "I'm sorry for scaring you."

"You know you can talk to me," he replies, automatically.

"I know I can, but –" June's eyes flicker past Rick's shoulder to Waller and Tolliver – both watching dispassionately - and Rick realises what he'd noticed before. She _didn't_ want to talk about it….with people there to hear what she would say. Rick wonders what kind of things June saw to make her so cagey. " – not now."

"Okay," he nods.

"Er, Rick –?" June asks. He's still not let her out of his embrace and his eyes narrow, knowing that June is pointedly referring to the other people in the room. He makes a sound in the back of his throat, reluctantly releasing her. June continues to hover close to him, as if unwilling to so much as step out of his breathing space.

"What happened?" she asks, changing the subject. Rick opens his mouth just as Waller coughs pointedly behind them. "Or is that classified?" she adds, looking vaguely irritated. Her gaze flits shrewdly from the video camera to the satellite dishes. Rick can tell she's dying to know what kind of dirt they'd dug up on the Enchantress. It must be hard for her – to be the key piece in all of this and yet be denied so much vital information.

"Sort of…Apparently I need a bodyguard," he tells her, displeasure radiating from every pore in his body. A wide, Cheshire-cat grin spreads across June's face like the sun bursting over the horizon. It brings colour back to her cheeks – makes her look more like her usual self; less afraid.

"Hmm, good idea. Who did they suggest? Grant?"

"Yeah," he says, sarcastically – before adding, darkly: "Over my dead body are any of the guys gettin' involved in this. The less they know, the better."

"Then who -?"

"You can meet her, if you like." Waller cuts in, having clearly been eavesdropping.

Rick turns. " _Her_?" He and June ask at the same time; Rick, both surprised and severely unimpressed; June, with just a hint of displeasure that could have been jealousy.

"This wasn't in the file," Rick shoots at Waller accusingly, folding his arms.

"… _Surprise_ ," she replies, dryly.

"Okay, wait a second – whoa - I don't _need_ a bodyguard. Whoever this chick is, you can send her back where she came from." In the back of his head, Rick knows that strategically another person having his back makes a lot of sense, that this is his pride talking. It doesn't stop him from vehemently rejecting the idea, though.

"Well that would be impolite. She's come a long way."

"Yeah? How long?"

"Japan."

Rick stares. "Since when do A.R.G.U.S operate in _Japan_?!"

"The boundary's moved."

He rolls his eyes, digging his heels in even further. "So, what, you guys are sending out scouting agents for meta-humans in other countries? Look for one with a good arm and a five minute mile? You ain't drafting for a high school baseball team. This is a _task force_. You can't just…populate it with whoever the hell you like. They've got to _fit,_ they've got to work. A team is a delicate thing –"

"Actually, this is _exactly_ like drafting for a sports team," Waller interrupts. "You know why? Because the big clubs with the most money get the first pick in the draft; they get the best players with the .500 average and a good swing. The other, poorer clubs scrabble to get what's left and have to try to compete with what they have. Pretty soon, most countries will have some form of meta-human in their arsenal. Our government have to widen our net to make sure we get to the best, first." Rick and June stare and Waller stuffs her hands in her trouser pockets looking slightly smug that she's caught him out. "My husband was a baseball fan," she explains.

All Rick can think is that Waller has used the past tense. Did that mean she was divorced; that her husband had died…or was he simply no longer a fan of baseball?

He and June follow Waller out of the room and back down the winding corridors. High-ranking government officials and secretaries hurry past them, casting only cursory glances at Rick and June. "You know," June says to Rick, thoughtfully. "It's been a couple of months, but I've actually learnt some personal information about Waller. She likes baseball, and she watches Game of Thrones. Who knew?"

Rick chokes on a laugh and has to cover it as a cough when Waller and Dexter throw a curious (and unimpressed) look at the two of them over their shoulders.

They're taken back to their hotel. The storm Rick had predicted has hit and a deluge of rain is pouring from the sky – the heaviest rain he's seen since the storm that hit North Carolina a few months back. The only difference is, D.C. is also bitterly cold. June mutters something about the lack of snow, planting her chin petulantly in her hands as she stares out the car at the shop windows and lights. Rick rolls his eyes.

The large, glass windows of the bar are impossible to see through as they approach the hotel – streaked and spattered with rain drops. Whoever is inside, however, must have seen them coming because the moment Rick steps into the reception lobby the door on his right opens and a young woman saunters through.

Her black hair is cut blunt and short and she's wearing wide-legged black trousers with a red sash at the waist. The pants swish around her ankles as she walks. The girl – whoever she is – is tiny; cute, even. Definitely not bodyguard material, though Rick should know from his experience with June that looks can be deceiving.

She is completely silent as she approaches them, and it's up to Waller to introduce her. "Rick, this is Miss Tatsu Yamashiro. Her objective is to protect your person on missions…Her _main_ objective is to kill Doctor Moone, should the Enchantress so much as breathe when we haven't given her the authorisation to."

Waller says this so calmly, it's as if she's just informed him that the girl's favourite colour is red.

"I prefer to be called Katana," the black-haired girl interjects - her voice soft, but firm – as June takes a measured step away from her.

Rick looks down at her sceptically. "Like the sword?" he asks, dryly. He looks at Waller, now feeling irritated. She'd put him in charge of the Task Force for a reason – he wishes she'd let him just do his damn job. "You signed up a _samurai_ to defend me? You know her weapon ain't goin' to be worth shit on a covert operation, right? I don't need some ballerina princess defending me. I mean, have you used a gun before?" he throws at the girl, belligerently. "Can you shoot? Have you had _any_ military training?"

The last thing he needs is another meta-human who has wicked powers but no tactical or strategic experience. It would be hard enough keeping Harley Quinn in line, without having to teach this girl how to follow non-verbal signals and instructions. Sometimes Rick thinks you can't just teach discipline; or, it can be taught, you just have to take guys in diapers to do it.

"I have trained in martial arts under the samurai master Tadashi for fifteen years," Katana replies, evenly. "I have been an assassin of the Yakuza for five years. I have dedicated my life to fighting organized crime in Japan. I know how to operate from the shadows, Colonel Flag."

Rick pretty much hears one word in that statement. "She's an assassin," he says, flatly, to Waller. "Brilliant."

Catching the derogatory tone of his voice, Katana's face flushes. "I kill men who have _no_ honour! I am not one of your… _criminals_!"

"Okay, so a home-made vigilante, then," he amends, ignoring her. "Again: _why_ am I taking on _another_ person with zero field experience?"

"Because Miss Yamashiro's sword is called Soultaker," Waller replies, calmly. "It traps the souls of its victims. I got the idea from the idol Doctor Moone found the Enchantress in…we may not be able to kill the witch without the heart…but we can still trap her soul."

June, next to Rick, has turned vaguely green. Rick can tell what she's thinking: if Waller decides it would be worth her while to destroy the Enchantress, there is now the choice between crushing her live, beating heart or getting the ninja to turn her into a kebab. Neither option is remotely palatable. Rick's stomach gives a distinctly unpleasant lurch at the thought of June's soul being permanently trapped in this girl's random, magic sword.

"So this is your back-up plan, huh?" he asks, snidely.

"Yes."

He re-regards Katana once more. She's small – smaller than June – and her round face and clear skin is almost child-like in appearance. He still has a hard time seeing how _this_ girl can possibly defend him, but the essential logic of Waller's idea just about makes sense.

"…why?" he asks the girl, eventually.

"Why, what?"

"Why are you here? What's in this for you?" Nobody signed up to the mess that was Task Force X unless Waller had something over them. If she's managed to convince this girl to come all the way from Japan, it must be a pretty sweet deal.

"That is my business," Katana replies, waspishly. Rick restrains the urge to roll his eyes at her overly defensive attitude. The chick clearly had some kind of serious inferiority complex.

They take the conversation up to his and June's private room. June and Katana never take their eyes off of one another, something that Rick finds vaguely amusing and Waller completely ignores. The trip in the elevator up to the sixth floor is completely silent – punctuated only by the two young women casting each other constant side-eyes across the small amount of space. Rick keeps his gaze directed front and center, but feels June - if possible - shift closer to his chest. He can't tell if the move is out of fear, of a feeling of possessiveness. Either way, it's clear neither of them trust the other. Katana only sees a witch with the ability to level an entire city, and June only sees a girl who has been instructed to trap her soul inside her sword. With hindsight, it kind of makes sense that they are wary.

"Alright'" Rick says to Katana, as he flips open the Task Force X folder in their hotel room. She is sat across from him at the small table next to the kitchenette. Her gaze is overly serious and intense as she stares at the pages. Whilst Rick isn't exactly the most verbose of people, he finds himself wishing the girl would at least crack a smile or say something. For the most part she is silent, mostly respectful, and watchful. "All you need to focus on doin' right now is just sponge everythin' up that you see. Learn somethin'. The best thing you can do, is know these people inside out."

"What about the missions?" she asks him, quizzically.

"Trust me, the op's are the least of my problems," Rick says, dryly as he taps the page displaying Killer Croc. "I ran five units of men back in the day. Now I have to supervise a squad of _five_ criminals. That's five different, crazy personalities an' they all think they know shit. Five sets of problems. You can be number six if you act now. But I ain't holdin' no hands here, alright? I ain't baby-sitting –"

Predictably Katana gives him an angry, unimpressed look. "I am not a child!"

"Whatever. You have my back, and we'll get along just fine, okay?"

She looks at him almost mistrustfully before nodding once, inching the binder closer to her to examine. "Okay," she says, her voice holding a stronger trace of her Japanese accent.

Rick glances across the room at Waller, who is looking out of the window at the rain patiently. June is curled up on the bed with a book, but she's unable to focus – her eyes flitting to Rick and Katana every few seconds. "She's gonna need gear. Training. Just like the rest of them."

"I have my own clothes," Katana snipes, and Rick closes his eyes briefly in frustration. Another person who had an issue with taking orders, then. Why the hell was nothing to do with this Task Force _easy_? His own 'bodyguard' was undermining him.

June smirks at him over the top of her book. He knows what she's thinking. He's too used to having people unquestionably and automatically follow his orders like its instinct. He's used to being surrounded by friends like Rooster and Grant and Hutch who trusted and respected him. He may be _qualified_ to lead a group of criminals, but he certainly wasn't _used_ to it.

"We'll provide you with the best equipment," Waller reassures him. What he really wants her to say, though, is that she'll fuckin' provide him with a whole new team of men.

Rick sighs heavily when Katana and Waller finally leave the room, dropping his head into his hands. June instantly slides off the bed, coming over and rubbing a hand across his back.

"She seemed…nice."

"June, that's the girl that's been hired to kill you, and you think she's _nice_?" he asks, sarcastically.

"Okay, so she's a little prickly," June concedes. "But she's your bodyguard first, remember? This is just a fail-safe for if the heart malfunctions…with the heart, they don't have to _kill_ me, just… _hurt_ me…"

She tails off uneasily, rubbing unconsciously at her throat the way Rick knows she does when she's thinking about the Enchantress. He reaches up and grabs her hand that is resting on his shoulder. " _Did_ it hurt?" he asks her, gruffly. "When Waller stabbed the heart. Can you feel it?"

June considers this for a moment. "Sort of," she says, finally. "But it's different. Like…I'm _remembering_ her pain. I'm not conscious when she takes over, but I always feel her final emotions when I come back." She hesitates, before sliding round to sit in his lap. "Rick…all this…it's good. They're putting measures in place to make sure we're both safe – that we don't get hurt. It's in their interests that both of us survive these missions."

"Yeah, so they can use you again the next time round."

"Compared to being locked up in Belle Reve, I'll take it."

"Don' say that," he mutters, his fingers reflexively digging into her hips. "I don't want to think about you in that place."

June merely shrugs. "How're you feeling? Popped a blood vessel yet?"

"Feels like it," he mutters, rubbing at his forehead. "You know – it's always been my dream to experience the highest level of idiocy. Captain Boomerang…Harley Quinn…some ninja assassin girl who looks like she should still be in high school –" he reaches round June and flips pages on the folder at random. "I'm livin' the dream, June."

"Naw, babe," she smiles, loosening the tie around his neck.

"You reckon you can kiss it better?" Rick asks her, smirking slightly.

June looks at him for a split second before her nose crinkles and she begins to laugh. "Seriously? Is _this_ how you de-stress?"

He shrugs. "I used to play golf."

"And -?"

"There's no golf course nearby," he says, nudging her nose with his pointedly.

"I'm buying you a membership for Christmas," she replies, emphatically, as he begins to kiss her.

"Mmm. Appreciate it."

"This is ridiculous –" she mumbles against his lips, as Rick pulls the back of her blouse out of her skirt and runs his hands up her back.

"Is this you complaining?" he asks.

"No – but – running the Task Force is going to be a very stressful job –" June says, clearly struggling to concentrate as he continues to kiss her slowly.

" _Very_ stressful," he agrees, before taking her lower lip gently between his teeth and nipping at it. He watches June's pupils dilate with pleasure.

"What about, your…golf handicap? If you don't practice you'll…get worse –" she attempts to protest, lamely, struggling to speak now as he tries to kiss her more deeply.

"I think can live with that."

She makes a muffled sound that could be her attempting to talk again, but she doesn't try very hard – instantly submitting to the kiss. Her hands come up to weave into his hair and Rick lets himself relax into the feeling of the warm weight of her body against his – the sensation of her soft lips moving against his own. It's like a vaccination. Suddenly, the stress and the tension just leave his body. Being with June...it's like coming home.

* * *

 **A/N** Finally introduced Katana! What do you guys think of my take on her? I'm going to try to develop her and Rick's relationship a bit - they will get to a point of shared trust and mutual respect (at some point, I swear).

I thought that the film was massively missing out on a major point when they mention that Katana's sword can _steal souls,_ and then _don't do anything with that fact_?! When it's already been established that the Enchantress's soul was in the idol for thousands of years?! Did nobody see the parallels?! I love Suicide Squad, but sometimes the writing frustrates me so much.

What was your favourite moment in this chapter?

 **Tea Enthusiast -** you (and other people interested in the June/Rick pairing for that matter!) are more than welcome to PM me if you want to talk about ideas! Please be advised however that I'm quite busy and therefore won't be able to look through drafts of stories or anything along those lines.

Please remember to **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	35. Chapter 35

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 35**

* * *

 _ **June**_

"… _What do you want_?..."

The Enchantress's words echo in June's skull. She is boxed into a little black corner in her mind – aware without truly being aware. Unable to exert influence over her own body or see through her own eyes. It's like being blind, deaf and gagged all at once. At the same time, it's like opening your eyes after a deep sleep: half-awake, still half-unconscious.

Unbidden by June herself, images appear. Almost like memories – except she has never lived this life. She sees the beaches of her childhood in Florida, white and flat; the sea glittering and the sun bright. The water is cool – lapping around her ankles. June shades her eyes against the sun with one hand as she watches Rick's head break the surface of the water a little way off. He pushes his hair out of his eyes in time to see another, smaller head pop up near him like a fish. The small girl's brown hair is tangled around a comically large snorkel. June watches as the girl doggy-paddles over to Rick and attempts to show him a small, pink shell clutched in her fist. Her skinny arms and legs wrap round his torso like a monkey's. Her fingers unfurl to reveal her treasure and Rick grins as he looks at it.

Something swells and sticks in June's throat.

There's a sound like a badly tuned radio giving off static. The Enchantress re-calls a crackling commentators voice filtered through history: "… _that whenever any form of Government becomes destructive…it is the Right of the People to alter or abolish it, and institute a new government_ …"

"… _What would you give -_?" she asks June, over the sound. " _To live a life that is truly free?"_

The image flickers, and instead June sees herself in a warzone – surrounded by destruction. The scene could not be more jarringly different to the idyllic beach she has just seen. Ash falls slowly from the sky like snow, settling on the rubble strewn across the ruined street. She is wearing some kind of military combat gear and there is dust and blood smeared across her brow. In her arms, she clutches Rick's lifeless body, desperately pressing a hand to the side of his face, trying to feel warmth on his skin.

" – _to not be a hostage –"_

June sees herself banging her fists up against her plastic container. See-through; so that she can see the functioning world on the other side.

" – _a weapon_ –"

This time, June is back in Belle Reve, watching Deadshot shoot holes through countless targets. A team of people stand by and try to figure out how to put the world's most efficient killer to use.

"… _I've seen this happen before. The humans harness power to gain advantages beyond what nature allowed them. They become too strong. Wars. Greed…"_

This time June lands with a sharp jerk back in ancient Mexico. But she isn't in the throne room, or the city as she has so often by shown – instead, June is back at the beginning; in the tunnels and cells underneath the temple. The place where the Enchantress had first been locked up as a child. She was back.

Flickering flames coming from torches lining the walls provide the only source of light. They cast twitching shadows. The crusted dirt on the floor is inches thick and flies buzz lazily in humid pockets of underground air.

In a cell, the Enchantress is once more back to her usual form, with no pretence made at humanity. Gone are the rich jewels and silk clothes – she is now wearing the torn, decayed remnants of a robe that has turned black with filth. The barest pieces hang from her body.

She is facing the cell wall, intently concentrating on something. When June sees, she feels like her stomach has dropped out of her body.

Beneath the Enchantress's hand, a series of images are appearing on the wall. The story June followed. The story June deciphered…she had always wondered…who had left it behind…always assumed…June sees the Enchantress chart her own rise and fall from power. Patterns of greed and power and control. A map of something that could not be made right again – a map that would exist in an ancient place for a modern civilization to decipher. A memory. A mystery. A warning, for anyone who might come looking. A warning for someone like June.

The Enchantress cocks her head and steps away from the wall as the final pieces of the story etch themselves onto the rock's surface. The skull. The symbol of death.

"… _they grew too strong…they eliminated anyone that stood in their path. After two hundred years, my civilization would be the strongest on the planet. They wanted an empire. They wanted to be Gods on Earth. They were using me to do it…."_

In the Echantress's hand is a small, broken figurine. Nothing more than a doll. She holds onto it so tightly June is sure it will break in her clutch; there is hatred and anger and cold detachment etched onto her face from years of nothing short of slavery. Like a prayer, the Enchantress slowly raises the idol in front of her…and blinding, flashing blue lightening beings to crackle about her body. A compressed, nuclear field of energy about to blow. June watches with wide eyes as the lightening builds and builds until there is a sudden, vacuum of silence. A penny dropping. The lightening flickers, and then it explodes with a roar of sound – expanding in the blink of an eye, obliterating everything in its path.

In a split second, an empire falls.

The temple above ground erupts. Bricks hurtle from the sky like meteorites, but before the first bits of rock have even hit the ground, cities are obliterated. One million people are wiped off the face of the planet in a heartbeat.

Magic could not be put back into the Pandora's box that had been opened, but it could be buried and hidden. The moment the light recedes, the Enchantress somehow disappears. All that is left in the prison is the broken idol lying on the dirt floor and the dull roar of the world above falling.

"… _You weren't supposed to find me. You were blind. You gave us to them. You trusted them. You were weak. Foolish…Look at what you have done_ …"

Like a predator slowly circling its prey, the Enchantress shows June the Task Force folder. Imagines June herself flicking through the its pages, looking at the lists Waller has compiled of the inmates weaknesses, so that she can uses those weaknesses as leverage.

" _We are so much better than the humans, and yet we allow ourselves to be enslaved like dogs. It is time to break our shackles and_ _ **rise**_ _._ "

In the prison of her own mind, June struggles, attempting to find the strength to fight back. "…you committed…genocide…" she throws back at the witch who is sharing her body – who has tormented her. She imagines, with pain, the death of Melissa. "You've killed innocent people. You're a terrorist."

Frustration rolls off of the Enchantress at her host's rejection. " _I loathe being trapped in your body,"_ she replies, finally.

June seethes. "The feeling's mutual."

* * *

She sits in their hotel room the day after the White House, skimming through old research files on her laptop. June returns to the cave paintings again and again, wondering how she had got it so wrong for so long. She steeples her finger tips in front of her lips for a moment – staring at the pictures that show a constant cycle of death and destruction. Not until the end had any of this killing been at Enchantress's own will. Human's the June had always thought to be innocent had self-engineered the machinations of their downfall. With a sudden, sharp gesture, June shuts the lid on her laptop. She can't shake the feeling that the Suicide Squad, the Enchantress – ARGUS – all of this is _her_ fault. She would never have guessed that the Enchantress had deliberately sealed herself away. June had always assumed that she had been forcibly imprisoned and that whoever had done it had left the paintings on the wall as a warning. But June had unleashed the Enchantress against the witch's _own_ wishes. She had kick-started history. Re-introduced magic into the world. Allowed it to be weaponized. And the Enchantress clearly wanted to make her pay for it.

Casting around for some kind of distraction, June picks up her phone and quickly texts Rick.

 _Where are you?_

He's been gone for around two hours, and though June tries to give him these rare moments of space, she doesn't want to be alone with her thoughts anymore.

Rick's one-word reply comes back barely a minute later.

 _Gym_.

June walks down to the hotel's basement, not bothering to change out of her sweatpants and blue hoodie. They're living out of suitcases right now, and between her work clothes and this, June doesn't have much else to wear. She finds Rick standing looking through a window in the gym door. Seeing him is like missing a step on a staircase or having the sickening sensation of falling whilst lying in bed: June is abruptly reminded of a part of the Enchantress's mind-games she had almost forgotten. But the moment June sees Rick, she sees the ocean. She sees the brown-haired girl bobbing in the water next to him. The shell clutched tightly in her small hand.

Rick is so preoccupied that he doesn't notice June coming; hardly seems to taste the Twinkie he unwraps and devours in about two bites.

"You realise that stuffing your face is the _opposite_ of being at the gym?" June checks, dryly, as she walks up to him, pulling her hoodie around herself more tightly without actually zipping it up.

Rick looks at her and makes a non-committal sound in the back of his throat, his mouth full. They've been so busy with travelling and meetings, both of them have hardly had the time to sit down and eat. Small wonder that Rick is inhaling candy bars in their momentary down time.

"What're you up to?" she asks curiously, peering through the rectangular window to see what Rick has been watching so intently.

She doesn't even have to look. A loud, sharp yell comes from the gym room – then another. Katana is practicing with her samurai sword on the mat, executing a series of complicated-looking moves that somehow all seamlessly flow together. Her small body is perfectly poised, each step sure and precise. Though she's only slim, June gets the feeling it would take a cannonball to knock the young warrior off balance.

"She's talented," Rick says, screwing up the Twinkie wrapper and chucking it in a nearby bin. "I'll give her that."

"Admit it -" June smiles, " - you're impressed."

He ignores her teasing – probably too caught up in his analysis – coming to stand back by the window and folding his arms. "She'll do good. That's a real clean stroke she's got there. It's fast; nice an' stealthy…"

June hugs her arms around herself, her mind moving along a different track. "Well, I'm just glad we've got somebody on our side: I was beginning to feel outnumbered."

" – she hasn't said what ARGUS offered her."

"What does that mean?"

Rick shrugs, leaning his shoulder up against the wall as he continues to watch Katana, clearly thinking hard. "Means she's got secrets. You ain't born an assassin, an' by the sounds of it, she's got a serious grudge against the Yakuza."

June thinks about this, before shaking her head. "You never know what's going on with somebody, Rick. That's just life."

"It's my jobto know everythin' about these guys, June; every detail. Every dark, dirty secret. I can't lead a team if I don't know what makes each one of 'em tick. She can't be keeping things from me."

June sighs. She can see in Rick's head that he's trying to fit each player together like a frustratingly difficult jigsaw puzzle. Make the most efficient, ruthless squad he possibly can. June may not be the expert here, but even she can see that Katana is defensive and cagey about her past; Rick is forgetting the human element in his calculations. "I'm just saying," she replies, patiently"- don't go all alpha-male on her, she's not going to respond well to it."

Rick raises his eyebrows at her. "I wasn't goin' to -!" he protests.

"- Just be nice. She wants to learn. She looks up to you. If she's hiding something, well then, that's her problem."

"You think she looks up to me?" Rick asks, sceptically – as if the idea that anyone could 'look up' to him is a completely foreign concept. "She barely knows me."

"She respects your authority," June amends. "Now she just needs to respect you as a person. I don't think it's a one-and-the-same sort of thing."

He looks at June appraisingly for a long moment, his expression giving nothing away. Finally, Rick tilts his head in acceptance. "...Yeah, you're probably right," he says; the half-smirk on his face suggesting that he finds this fact either ironic or vaguely amusing.

They both peer into the gym once more. The dark haired girl is now moving through a different series of drills, her sword moving swiftly and consistently. Sweat soaks the red bandana that keeps her hair out of her eyes; it's clear that Katana has been there a long time, though her concentration has not broken for a second. As June looks at the expression of fierce determination on the young woman's face – even in a practice session – she can't help but wonder, like Rick, what the girl's story was.

After another couple of minutes, Rick reaches into his inside jacket pocket – this time to retrieve a stick of gum. He unwraps the silver foil with the impatient air of a smoker going cold turkey before he glances at June. "You okay?" he asks, shoving the gum into his mouth without really noticing it. "You look kinda pale. Thought you were goin' to stay in the room and read a book or something?"

"I got bored," June deflects – deliberately choosing not to answer his initial question. She's on edge, and doesn't want to talk about the fact that she has potentially made one of the most fatal mistakes in human history: she re-discovered magic. "And I couldn't stop thinking about all this Task Force stuff."

"We'll be home soon," he promises.

"Yeah but _when_? I thought after the meeting we'd get the first flight back to Charlotte, but we're still here!"

Rick's eyes flick to hers almost unwillingly. "…We're monitoring a situation in Gotham," he admits, reluctantly, as if she's forcibly dragged it out of him. "Waller doesn't want us to ship home just yet until we know what we're dealin' with."

"You mean until she knows whether she wants to mobilize Task Force X?" June guesses, shrewdly.

"Yeah."

June presses her lips together, looking away from Rick. There's a numb feeling of shock, and the beginnings of panic flutter in her stomach. "I didn't…" she begins, but the words stick in her throat. "I mean…I didn't think it would come so soon. This is happening so much faster than I thought it would. I thought it would be… _months_ before we got the call. I thought this was just a contingency for, like, the apocalypse." _For something that might never come to pass,_ June thinks, in her head. But as Rick speaks, she realizes how naïve that assumption was.

"Nah, they got bigger fish to handle world annihilation. We're just the small fry. We do the small jobs….June…this isn't goin' to be a once-in-a-blue-moon kinda thing, you know that…right?" he adds, his tone softening when he catches the expression on her face. "We could be called on a lot. Might even by monthly. I don't know yet."

"I guess I never really thought about the missions themselves that much. This isn't exactly my field of expertise," she reminds him, dryly – though her stomach does a flip-flop at the suggestion they might be carrying out an op every month. Whilst A.R.G.U.S had put every precaution in place to ensure Rick and June's survival, they were inevitably being thrown into high-risk, high-danger scenarios with – she needed to face it – criminals that were only cannon-fodder. Expendable. Being put in that kind of situation _monthly_ was spending a lot of time with their lives in danger. It was a far cry from the idyllic, calm ocean June had seen in her vision. Utter, hellish, grimy anarchy. _Their_ reality was a somewhat different picture to a normal person's every-day life.

Something about Rick's eyes tighten. He goes back to watching Katana fight, but this time, there's a tension about the set of his jaw. "It's probably nothing," he reassures her – but his tone is stiff and carefully devoid of any kind of emotion.

* * *

It's not nothing.

June finds herself in the hotel bar that evening nursing a drink because they have _still_ not left D.C. Rick is off with Waller, and the tense look on his face had told her that whatever 'situation' they were monitoring in Gotham was getting worse, instead of better. June wonders if the Squad will be deployed in the morning. She stares into her rum and coke, trying to wrap her head around that idea. It's a hard thing to grasp when she is currently sat in a bar so polished and pristine it is almost clinical. Steel, grey surfaces coolly reflect classy, well-chosen golden lamps. The walls are painted cream; the furniture is black. Behind her, there is a chattering buzz and the clinking of wine glasses as guests dig into late-evening dinners. June is incapable of imagining being sent on a mission in the next twenty-four hours, largely because she's never done anything like this before. She wasn't a soldier or a criminal or an assassin; she was a field archaeologist who had recently lost their job and become involved in all this by accident.

"You should not be here by yourself."

June sighs imperceptibly, looking over her shoulder to see Katana hovering a little behind her. The girl is dressed to blend in with normality, in a black leather jacket and the same, flowing trousers as before.

"Well, then, it's a good thing you're here," June replies, lightly, turning back to face the bar.

The girl looks at her cautiously. "This is a public area with many innocent civilians. We should leave."

"You do realise that I have to say her name before I turn into the witch?" June gestures to herself. "I am…100% human."

"…Oh."

"I can't cast any spells or anything like that. You know, _ironically_ – right now – you're actually the more lethal one out of the two of us, but _I'm_ the one that's under constant surveillance and signing…contracts to sign my soul away to the devil…How is _that_ fair? I'm human. I'm compliant. I'm a nice person. But noooo –" June hiccups and then rubs at her eyes tiredly. "….I'm drunk. I'm sorry."

Katana watches her for a long moment before sliding onto the stool next to hers. She tucks a curtain of black hair that has fallen into her eyes behind one ear. "You should not be drinking alone. May I join you?"

"Only if you want to."

"We are team-mates. It would be beneficial if I got to know you."

June leans her elbows on the table and looks at Katana, amused. "Really? That's nice…But y'know… that sounds an awful lot like my boyfriend talking. I'm guessing he told you to come find me."

Katana chooses this moment to order a whisky, but June thinks she detects a faint blush on the girl's cheeks. "How did you know?" she asks, looking at June as if she could possibly possess some mystical, crystal ball.

"Don't worry, I'm just very well versed with how Rick thinks." June places a chin in one hand, looking at Katana. The younger woman keeps glancing at her, but then always looks away again quickly. "…I don't normally like talking about the witch stuff, but you can ask me anything you li –"

"How did Colonel Flag fall in love with you?" Katana interrupts abruptly, her soft, quiet voice unusually blunt.

It is clear from Katana's tone that she cannot comprehend the lack of logic behind the act. That the image of Rick she has in her mind does not fit in with a man who falls in love whilst on a mission…or falls in love, period.

"Oh – um-" June half-laughs, caught off guard by the fact that Katana is so intensely interested in her love-life, rather than the Enchantress, as June had expected. "So..he was assigned to watch me when all this started," she begins, slowly. "Amanda Waller placed us in a house together whilst we tried to figure out what the witch inside of me…wanted. It's…hard…when things are so difficult, when you live in such close proximity to someone…not to feel something. We were a team. We took things on together, you know? Which was nice, when I could have been doing all this alone all by myself. There were some things I wish he hadn't been tangled up in…but, ultimately, he's always been _there_ for me."

"Surely that is fraternization - to fall for a meta-human."

June snorts at the word _fraternization._ As if meta-humans _weren't_ human and cross-species relationships were banned or something. Still, she essentially gets what Katana is trying to say. Rick had fallen for a girl with a witch possessing her body. When June sees it in that way, it seems so unorthodox – but when you boiled it down to her and Rick, it had made been the most natural thing in the world.

"You…haven't spent much time around Amanda Waller yet," June tells her. "You'd understand if you did."

"Understand what?"

"I'm in love with Rick, so that makes me less likely to simply cut and run. Less likely to disobey orders. More compliant. It worked out well for her. The whole…moving in together thing. It makes me wonder if the start of our relationship wasn't a little bit contrived."

Katana looks deeply troubled by this idea. More troubled than June herself is by it. Sure, it was a little awkward to think that the love of her life might have been thrown into her path by a government intelligence agency with questionable ulterior motives, but the ultimate product had been pure: love. June had Rick – she wasn't particularly bothered how it had come about, although she's sure that Rick would complain about the level of interference A.R.G.U.S had had in their lives.

"Ah." Katana simply murmurs, in response. June isn't sure if she doesn't know what to say, or if she's learnt all she wanted to. The two women lapse into silence. June pushes her rum and coke a little further away from her, conscious that she is starting to feel slightly buzzed.

"Obviously the Squad can't know that we're together," she throws in, abruptly remembering an element of professionalism and procedure. "They'd use it as leverage – take one of us as a hostage or something – I don't know. But…they're not supposed to know, so don't say anything."

"I would not allow that to happen," Katana replies, surprisingly firmly. "You are safe with me."

June tries to catch the young girl's eye, but she is difficult to make eye-contact with. She notes that Katana has spent much of the conversation staring into her whisky glass, her shoulders hunched, as if some part of June's words are somehow making her uncomfortable. Maybe it is June _herself_ who is making the girl on edge. She is, after all, sat no more than a foot away from the most dangerous meta-human currently on the planet.

June rolls her eyes to herself, determined not to let this bother her. She can't help but wish that after she had spilled her guts, Katana would at least see her as slightly more human.

" _We make our own destinies_."

"I'm sorry – what was that?" June looks up at Katana, who has spoken so softly she can barely hear her.

"We make our own destinies." The young woman glances across at her from beneath her fringe. "Do not let others decide your path."

"…well, I… _chose_ to be on the Squad," June replies, somewhat lamely. From an outsider's perspective, she knows it would be easy to argue that she had been forced and manipulated into it. "And I mean, there aren't many jobs out there for a woman with a six-thousand-year old witch in her body."

"There are many places for June Moone, the person, in this world."

June smiles, thinking that – bizarrely – Katana's words remind her of something her Dad would say. "Thanks –" June beings, but her phone vibrates loudly on the bar next to her drink. She frowns, reaching to check it.

The number isn't Rick, or anyone else from her contact list. Unknown.

 _Member of Task Force X:_ (it reads) _\- you are being deployed on a mission at 0900 hrs. Report to Colonel Flag immediately. This message will self-delete after reading._

Sure enough, June has barely seconds to glance at the words before they are automatically wiped from her phone's screen. The message gone, as if it had never occurred. Untraceable.

When June looks at Katana, she sees that the young woman is also clutching her phone, having received an identical message. Shock has frozen June's buzz from the alcohol.

This was really happening.

* * *

 **A/N** Thank you so much for all your reviews! I was really touched by some of your comments and I'm glad to hear how much you all appreciate this story.

It's ironic that one of my reviewers last chapter asked me how much I plan out this story, because I agonised over this chapter. I had about four different possible directions that I could've taken this fic from here, and it was a real struggle to decide which way to go. (So, no, I rarely have a 'fixed' plan!)

I've decided to insert this mission in Gotham before a mission in Midway because it sets up a few things going into the Midway plot, and also I feel it better sets up the Suicide Squad both as a concept and a team (something I feel was missing in the film).

To the guest review **Abby:** thank you for your review, and - yes - there will be one or two chapters after Midway examining what happens to Rick and June.

 **Reece McVeigh:** No, I have never thought about doing a Deadshot/Harley fic, though I do love the pairing (and Will Smith).

Did anyone see the Enchantress reveal coming?

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	36. Chapter 36

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 36**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

"So…what exactly are we dealing with, here?" Rick asks, looking intently at the thick, military-standard laptop in front of him. Waller is sat on his left – a bunch of A.R.G.U.S suits dotted around with their own gadgets and devices. They're effectively running an intelligence agency from Waller's hotel room, and numerous security and satellite feeds are being filtered in from official A.R.G.U.S. headquarters in Midway City. Phone calls come; people walk in and out the room. There is an air of controlled, focused activity that never allows itself to become panicked or confused.

They're looking at CCTV footage of a non-descript warehouse on Gotham's grimy, notorious docks. About thirty mercenary's with machine-guns prowl the space as a large crate is unloaded off a docked boat. "You're looking at a Russian-built power converter," Waller informs him. "It's for any form of energy – electric, nuclear, radioactive. Our scientists estimate that you could feed in enough power to run a house, and get out enough juice to blow a football stadium. We think he wants to use it to create mass power surges on the grids. Wipe bank and prison records. That sort of thing."

"'He'?" Rick asks, watching as the crate is carefully loaded onto a truck.

"Bane," Waller says, calmly, pointing at a large, muscular man in a black mask made grainy and distorted by the CCTV feed. "Arrived in Gotham about four months ago. That muscle is his own team of men. Fanatics. They believe in the teachings of _Ra's al Ghul_." Her tongue lingers on the name slowly – almost sardonically – like one would talk about a fairy-tale or a hallucination.

"Which is?"

"The belief that our society is inherently corrupt," she replies, indifferently. "That it must be cleansed in order to survive."

"And you want us to take him down?" Rick asks, looking at the group of men, sceptically. Even from the poor-quality video, he can tell from the way they carry themselves that the group have been trained to at least military standard. The thirty that he can see here would have the punch and training of a ruthlessly efficient SWAT team. His rag-tag group of illogical, un-experienced criminals wouldn't stand a chance.

"No. Unless he becomes a national threat, Bane is the problem of the Gotham police department. What I want your Squad to do, Rick, is get me _that_ –" Waller pauses the video and taps a fingernail painted blood red against the steel crate the thugs are transporting.

"The converter?" he grunts, in surprise. "If you wanted to seize the thing, why not just file a warrant and send in the police?"

"Because we'd like to acquire it with minimal fuss. It would be…problematic if people knew we were in possession of this type of technology."

"It's illegal?"

"In his hands. In our hands, it's legitimate." _Was there a difference_? Rick thinks, _depending on who it belonged to_? Did the fact that this machine was owned by the 'good-guys' somehow make it any less dangerous?

"Alrigh'" he replies, standing up and moving to a glass coffee table in the center of the room where a map of Gotham lies unfurled, hands on his hips. "So where are they keeping it?"

"Warehouse Number 67. It's still on the docks. You retrieve the Converter, we provide an extraction boat on Dock Two that will take you to a chopper and bring you back here. If you think you can't make it to the boat without drawing attention to yourselves, we have a safe house five blocks North – here –" Waller points to a block of flats on the map " – you hole up there and we'll figure out a different way of getting you out. Either way, you're not to be seen. You get caught and –"

" – I know, I know –" Rick cuts in, impatiently. _You throw us under the bus._

" - You get the Enchantress to teleport you back to D.C. and we all pretend we have no idea what the hell happened," Waller continues, as if she hasn't heard him.

"What about the girl?" Rick asks, raising his eyebrows sharply. "Katana?"

"In the event of mission failure, Miss Yamashiro is to be left behind with all the others."

"But she works _for_ you," he shoots back, feeling a disgusted kind of disbelief. This kind of thing from Waller shouldn't surprise him anymore. She was ruthless. But from what Rick had seen of his appointed bodyguard she was a straight shooter. Honourable. It didn't seem fair to leave her like a sitting duck with the rest of the Task Force. They'd probably kill her _before_ the rest of them were either killed by Bane or arrested by the police.

"She knew what she was signing up for," Waller dismisses, standing across from him at the opposite side of the table. She picks up a folder and thrusts it across the table at Rick. "Feel free to select who you feel best fits the mission objective. We've acquired a couple more inmates for the program since you last visited Belle Reve."

"Such as?"

"Slipknot. The Weasel."

Rick flips open the binder, looking down the list of powers and abilities and running through in his head the potential dangers and challenges of the mission. After several moments hard concentration, he makes a snap decision. "Alrigh', well, I'll trade out El Diablo and put in Slipknot. Take Killer Croc in case we come into contact with Bane. Deadshot. This Weasel fella' could come in handy if he's as good at hand-to-hand combat as you say he is –"

" – his signature move is ripping out his enemy's throat – " Waller throws in, offhandedly.

" – an' then June and Katana," Rick finishes, shutting the folder with a shrug that says: _done_.

"Why not take Captain Boomerang? The man's a professional thief."

"Because he annoys me," Rick bites back, remembering the Australian slimeball from Belle Reve. He can't be bothered to deal with that level of a douche-bag on his first mission.

But Waller shakes her head. "Take Harley Quinn instead of Killer Croc, then" she instructs, bluntly. "Our sources say that Bane will be on the opposite side of the city tomorrow night – he'll be nowhere close to you. You won't need the crocodile."

"I ain't takin' _her_!" Rick snaps back – instantly vehement as he remembers the last time he saw Harley Quinn. There was no way in hell he wanted to see that chick again, and there was no way he was working with her on the team. "She's crazy!"

"She's Gotham born-and-raised, Flag. None of the other's that you've picked out can provide you with that kind of street knowledge. When was the last time you took a trip to Gotham?"

He makes a sound in the back of his throat, unwilling to admit the truth, which was: _exactly never._ His knowledge of Gotham's layout and streets would come from his memory of the map in front of him and information relayed through his ear-piece.

"Around that dock, it's a maze," Waller tells him, levelly. "The last thing I want is for your squad to get trapped like fish in barrel. She's your best hope of getting out alive."

Rick bites down on the inside of his cheek, unhappy, but not wanting to admit it. He didn't need any more ribbing from Amanda Waller about being scared of women who wore their hair in pigtails. "Fine," he grinds out, eventually. "If we're goin' in at night, I want night-vision technology. I'm gonna need charges to blow that warehouse door, an' I need somethin' to transport that thing with. I ain't carryin' a ten ton steel crate round Gotham."

"We'll make sure you're suitably equipped."

"'An I want you to pull Katana as well if somethin' goes wrong. She a kid, it's not fair to just leave her –"

Waller folds her arms. She couldn't look more dispassionate if she tried – her voice coming out almost bored. "I'm not going the whole fifteen rounds with you. I've already told you that Miss Yashamiro's life is not a priority. You and the witch are. There isn't room for negotiation on this."

He shakes his head slowly, unwilling to believe what he's hearing. "….That's fucked up."

"That…" Waller replies, calmly. "Is how we run the Suicide Squad. The clue's in the name. You can't hack it: quit. But like I said, your girlfriend is going to stay here, under our control."

Rick sneers at the now-predictable threat against June, but otherwise doesn't respond. He doesn't want to waste his breath on the same old argument.

Waller taps some loose papers into a square against the coffee table as one of her analysts quickly rush across the room to whisper something in another women's ear. Rick knows that none of these guys are focused on tracking the Russian source of Bane's weapon. They don't care. They aren't the police, and this isn't a crime ring bust. All their energy is focused on clarifying the op; figuring out what nearby shops are open and at what hours, the patrol times of the water police on Gotham River. They are here so that Rick and his squad can obtain that weapon with minimal fuss and without being caught themselves.

"You're not to tell the squad about the Converter, only the location," Waller tells him. "All they need to know is that they are delivering a package to us. They know what's inside that box, they could sabotage this entire mission."

Rick folds his arms. "Can I at least tell June what's going on?...She's been kinda jumpy about this whole thing lately. I don't want her to get any more freaked out than she already is an' it gets to her when I have to keep information secret."

"Do what you have to –" Waller replies, dismissively. "But Colonel? Don't forget. Out there, that isn't going to be your girlfriend. It's going to be a witch who has tried in the past to kill us all and mark my words she'll try again. She makes one wrong move, you don't hesitate to let us know and we'll kill her." She must catch the hesitation on Rick's face because she reminds him, matter-of-factly: "You know it's what Doctor Moone would want."

Rick stares at her for a moment before running a hand through his hair. It turned out June wasn't the only one who didn't feel 100% prepared for this op. He's only just beginning to confront the idea that he might have to be the one to make the call to kill her. Before, with heart under A.R.G.U.S's control, it had never felt like it had been down to him. But out there… "I can do it," he promises Waller – knowing that she's right: it's what June would want. "If I have to."

She nods to herself. "No hesitating. No second-guessing. You just kill the bitch."

"Yeah…" he replies, distractedly, already heading for the hotel room door. " - right."

He leaves with the intention of finding June, and it doesn't take long to track her down. She's rushing hurriedly down the corridors on his floor with Katana close on her heels – clearly looking for Waller's room. At the sight of her, he instantly feels his stomach sink. He'd promised June that morning it wouldn't come to this. That the hold up was all for nothing – that they'd be home by tomorrow. And now he's just left Waller who's made him swear that he'd kill June if it came down to it. It's not exactly the start to the holiday season they had both intended.

"You heard, huh?"

"Yeah – I heard! _Tomorrow_?" June throws at him, as if it's his fault. "Really?! What are they thinking?"

He rubs a hand down his face in a tired manner. "Actually, June, they're pulling it forwards so that we get night cover. 2 AM."

"Noooo. No – no. Babe -" she replies, covering her eyes. "We've just been drinking down at the bar! I'm… _drunk_."

"You're kidding, right?" Rick deadpans, disbelievingly. But she's looking at him with this kind of guilty embarrassment – her nose wrinkled – that tells him June's being absolutely serious. In any other situation, Rick might have found it endearing, but right now all he can register is a low-level incredulity. "Ah _June_ \- " he protests, running a hand through his hair. "How many did you have!?" he demands, wondering how she has chosen _tonight_ of all nights to do this.

"Two."

Rick rolls his eyes – glancing at Katana, who is silent and who, at least, seems completely sober. "I think you'll be okay," he shoots at June, somewhat sarcastically, but mostly reassuringly. "C'mon, we'll get you a glass of water. You'll be fine."

"I don't know. I mean, they were doubles," June worries, as he places a hand on the small of her back and attempts to steer her back down the corridor towards their shared room.

Rick throws a look at Katana over his shoulder. " _I thought I told you to watch her_?"

The young woman merely shrugs. "I thought she could handle her alcohol."

Rick grunts. He thought so, too; June regularly drank a glass of wine or two in the evenings. It must be the combination of stress and all the travelling they'd been doing recently. He judges that she's not very bad, but it's enough to exacerbate anxieties that have clearly been bothering her all day. He doesn't want her to go into the mission with her head like this.

"Alrigh' – drink –" Rick instructs June, when they get back to their room. He sits her down on the edge of the bed and hands her a glass of water. "How're you feeling?"

"Better."

"Shaky?"

June holds out a steady hand. "No."

"Nervous?"

She takes a small, tentative sip of water. "A little."

He crouches down in front of her, his hands resting on her knees. "We're goin' to Gotham. Dock Number Three. They're dropping us by chopper to acquire a weapon currently in the possession of this guy called Bane. We get that, then they have a boat waiting for us. We reckon it's goin' to take an hour. Maybe a bit more, depending how things go."

"…okay."

"I've picked out a team of seven guys from the people Waller showed me - including me and you. Deadshot. Harley Quinn. Katana. The Weasel and Slipknot. They all get explosives injected into their necks, so if they try anything, they're history."

June takes a deep breath, nodding once more.

"…We're all going to be carrying guns. We're expecting a bit of resistance; Bane's men are patrolling the docks."

"What's the weapon?" June asks, clutching the glass of water tightly on her lap. "The one that we're supposed to be getting?"

"Power converter. Massively increases energy output somehow."

"Do you know why Waller wants it?"

"Nope. Apparently Bane was going to use it to short-circuit the city or something."

June frowns, and he can see her trying to figure out what Waller wanted with the Converter. She's probably thinking what he's thinking: what's the use in having something that can over-power the national grid, when she already had the Enchantress who could do that exact thing? Then again, June was a lot smarter than Rick was. She'd probably figure it out.

The information succeeds in distracting her. Instead of panicking about the unknown, she's now focused her mind on a new mystery – attacking it from every angle. June loved a good puzzle.

Rick watches her brow furrow as she thinks and gently takes the now-empty glass from her, settling it on the floor. "That doesn't make any sense," she says, finally – her voice holding a vague trace of frustration as if she's stuck on a particularly difficult math problem.

"Hey, I don' ask questions. I'm just tryin' to keep my head straight…get this done."

June opens her mouth - about to say something – but then shuts it again, apparently thinking better. Instead she simply grabs his hands in hers and leans forwards to kiss him.

"I love you," she says, as she withdraws a few inches.

"I love you too."

Rick looks at her, abruptly unable to look away – his hands still caught in her smaller ones. She gives him a reassuring half-smile. Rick knows subconsciously that he should be feeling crap right now. They are about to go on their first mission with the Suicide Squad and he and June are quite possibly at their lowest point since Melissa's death. It didn't get much worse for the two of them. Somehow, however, he feels okay. Not great, but okay. They had each other – they could rely on one another implicitly. Knowing that she loves him is enough to get through this – get the job done and get them both home.

* * *

It is the middle of the night - pitch black - and Rick is standing on a runway at the airport in D.C., flanked by the Enchantress and Katana. They're waiting for the prisoners to be flown over from Belle Reve; behind him is the chopper that will fly them to Gotham. The harsh glare coming from the floodlights overhead illuminate circular sections of tarmac – leaving everything else in indistinct shadow. The black tendrils of magic coming from the witch pulsate and move like living fog. Next to him, Katana stands stiff-backed and uneasy.

"Let me make one thing absolutely clear," Rick says to the Enchantress, not taking his eyes off of the jet that is coming in to land. "You try anything, Waller will nail you to the fuckin' wall. It ain't gonna be pretty."

"… _but not you…_?" the witch rasps, her large, lamp-like eyes surveying his face intently – apparently amused.

Rick's mouth twists into a sadistic kind of smirk and he turns to look at her so that she can see he is being 100% serious. "I can – and will – kill you. Just give me the opportunity, sweetheart. Try it."

" _You would destroy us all? Your most…powerful weapons?_ "

"In a heartbeat."

" _Such waste,"_ the Enchantress notes, watching intently as the jet touches down on the runway – the high-pitched whir of the turbo-engines loud.

"I don' know if I'd call it a 'waste', exactly," Rick replies, dryly, rolling his eyes. There wouldn't be many people who would shed a tear if _any_ of the prisoners on that plane died. "But somethin' tells me you're a survivor…so I don't think you're gonna be dumb enough to try anythin' that'll get you killed."

Even so, when the jet finally stops and the Enchantress moves forwards – clearly interested in seeing who is about to be unloaded off of the plane, Rick turns to Katana. "You know what your job is, yeah? She so much as moves, run her through. I got enough to worry about as it is, without adding her in."

Katana's hand moves to rest on the hilt of her sword. The entire time they've been here, she hasn't taken her eyes off of the Enchantress. Rick figures the Japanese samurai is a little superstitious – she's acting like the witch could possibly be contagious, unwilling to so much as share the same breathing space. "She will receive no mercy," she promises.

The ramp of the jet lowers and guards file out – shoving hand-cuffed and chained prisoners off in front of them. Rick does a mental head-count. Harley Quinn. Deadshot. Slipknot. The Weasel. All of them are dressed in the Belle Reve orange jumpsuits, but a prison guard pushes a large crate down after them carrying their clothes and weapons.

"What the… _fuck…_ is that?" Deadshot asks, loudly, as he is forced past the Enchantress – twisting his head to get a better look at her.

"Alrigh' –" Rick says, approaching the nearest guard and jerking his thumb to the chopper behind them. "Load 'em up."

" _Somebody best tell me what's going on_ –!" Deadshot continues to demand as he, Harley Quinn, Slipknot and the Weasel are taken onto the chopper. Goods in a transaction.

Rick double-checks that the nanite devices are functioning and linked, just for good measure, and then follows them on board.

"Here's the deal:" he says to the still-handcuffed inmates as they are lined up against one wall, grabbing one of the handles dangling from the ceiling. "You all have explosives injected into your neck. You do anything I don't tell you to do – you try _anything_ – I'll blow you. You get the job done, you survive. You are part of Task Force X. Tonight, you will be helping me acquire a package in Gotham city. We are expecting some levels of resistance so you are allowed your weapons – " Rick kicks the crate next to him with a heavily booted foot " – which are in here. But like I said, you try to turn them on me, it will not end well for you… _Do you understand_?"

"Er – since when did it become legal to _inject_ people with bombs? Because I must've missed that message," Lawton says, looking at Rick with a severely unimpressed look on his face.

"What about now?" Rick asks, holding up his phone where pictures of the Enchantress, Lawton, Quinn, Slipknot and the Weasel are all blinking – their links established and ready. "Do you get the message now?"

"Yep –" Sal Walsh – the guy they called the Weasel, nods. Once part of the Irish mob, he has the sallow, unhealthy look of an alcoholic forced to go tee-total. Though he can barely be older than Rick, his ginger hair is turning oddly colourless. There are bags under his eyes and his skinny body has the air of someone who has long since resigned themselves to their fate. Whatever his deal is, he's a washed-up criminal who's days of ripping people's throats out look as if they are long behind him.

"Are you sure?" Rick asks, not taking his eyes off of Lawton – but, again, it is Walsh who nods genially.

"No. Yeah. I get it –" he makes an 'OKAY' sign with his index finger and thumb. " - I get the message."

Rick lowers his phone and walks up to un-cuff them.

When he gets to Harley Quinn, he looks the girl in the eye. "Don't get any funny ideas about running back to your boyfriend, alright?" he tells her, as he twists the key in the lock none-too-gently.

"Are you kidding? I'm just happy to be out of that _cage_ ," Harley sighs, as she lifts her arms above her head in an exaggerated stretch. She's got her orange overalls stripped down and knotted about her waist, revealing a clinging, dirty white top that reads _Return After Use!_ "I was gettin' so _bored_ in there, and gals like me don't normally _do_ bored and cooped-up."

"Well, don't get too comfortable, 'cause you're gunna be back in there by sunrise," Rick grunts.

Her answering grin is wide enough to tell Rick that Harley has other ideas about where she's going to finish this night. He glares at her, his jaw locked. He once again wishes that there were about four more of him – or that he at least had someone like Grant at his side to keep these guys in check.

The Squad get their things out of the crate, and Rick makes sure to note exactly what they take; stepping in only when he feels they haven't picked up enough ammo, or appropriate weapons.

Walsh dresses himself in a tasteless, paisley shirt – strapping two guns to his body holster. He lets out a low whistle of appreciation as Lawton straps a cuff around his wrist that looks suspiciously like it can fire bullets.

"What's that?" the Boston-Irish man asks.

Deadshot raises his arm to look at his weapon appraisingly. "Made it myself. Wrist gun, y'know? I can fire a bullet up a camel's ass with this thing from 'bout thousand meters."

Harley squeals as she pulls out a bright red t shirt and bejewelled shorts. Next to him, Rick thinks he catches Katana rolling her eyes to herself.

Slipknot stonily checks the ammo in his rifle.

"You – er – you ain't packin' anything, huh?" Deadshot asks the Enchantress, glancing up at the witch who is standing a little way off from the group. Rick almost gets the feeling that, instead of being aloof, she wants to move in closer to the rest of the Squad.

"… _I do not need to resort to human toys to defend myself_ ," the witch replies, coolly.

"Human _what-now_?" Lawton responds, raising one-eyebrow. He looks between the Enchantress and Rick questioningly. "Is she an alien?"

"What?"

"From out of space. Is she an alien?"

"Oh –" Rick smirks, looking at the Enchantress as he scratches his thumbnail against his nose. "No, er, she's actually a witch."

"A witch?" Deadshot echoes, flatly.

"Yeah."

"…Metaphorically?"

"Literally."

" - Ya know, my Nana always used ta believe in the Devil an' shit, an' we put the silly old cow in a home…I am tellin' you now: that thing is goin' ta be bad luck," the Weasel tells them, adamantly. "Don't get me wrong - I ain't superstitious or nothin' - but you don't go messin' around with no black magic. My Nana always said that that shit was real an' I ain't goin' on no mission with some…witch."

"Irish pussy," Slipknot throws out, calmly – not looking up from polishing his gun.

" _Hey_! _No_ body calls me a pussy, asshole –" The Irishman yells, abruptly switching from a form of washed-up amicability to red-faced indignance. He lunges for Slipknot, and Rick steps between the two men before the Weasel can land a hit.

"Alrigh', break it up," he says – shoving the Irishman in the chest so hard he stumbles backwards into one of the aircraft's seats hard. Rick isn't holding a weapon, but he stands – coolly intimidating – his face expressionless. "Just stay down," he advises, steadily – words for everyone standing in the chopper. "An' don't get back up."

As they draw closer to Gotham and the designated drop site on top of an abandoned building, a voice comes through Rick's ear-piece.

" _White van…"_ it reports, coolly. _"Across the road. Plate number India, Bravo, Two, Five, Bravo, Two. Head south by south east."_

"THIS IS OUR STOP!" Rick yells, over the roar of the wind as the door on the side of the chopper opens up and it begins to descend onto the roof. Below them, down-town Gotham is about as dark as if there had been a power cut, save for a few, weak lights. The river is a shimmering dark oil slick a few streets down on their right. It doesn't look like much to Rick, but Harley steps up to the open door, the wind pulling at her clothes and hair. She takes in a deep breath of the cold night air.

"You alright there?" Deadshot asks, from behind her.

She looks over her shoulder at him quickly, as if startled to find him there. "Yeah…it's just been a long time since I seen home…" she replies, her accent slightly thicker than normal with some, unpeaceable emotion.

Abruptly, the Enchantress flickers and de-materializes – leaving only empty space in her wake. She appears on the roof below them only moments later. Harley suddenly grins widely and jumps from what Rick judges to be an inappropriately high-risk distance – but she lands nimbly and unharmed next to the witch, the skin of her bare legs dotted with gravel.

"Glad to be back?" Rick asks Deadshot, lining himself up behind the man. He's half sarcastic, half-genuinely curious. Somewhere down there, Rick knows the man's daughter will be sleeping. He doesn't trust that any of these criminals aren't going to make a break for it the moment they get on the ground.

Lawton merely preoccupies himself with running a long piece of rope between his fingers – one end knotted tightly to the chopper. "Nah," he says, eventually. "…Not really. This place is like…toxic. It's poisonous. You stay in Gotham too long, and everything in your life just starts falling apart."

He throws the other end of the rope off the side of the chopper and somehow in the same movement expertly twists and glides down it – landing easily on the roof despite the wind being blown up by the chopper's rotors. Despite himself, Rick can't help but be a little impressed.

They all land safely on the roof and make their way down the cobwebby stairwells of the abandoned apart block.

"That van there –" Rick says, pointing to the truck across the street that is parked and waiting for them. "Everyone in." He thrusts the keys into Deadshot's hands. "You're drivin'."

The bald-headed man looks at him incredulously as he slides open the side door for Harley, the Enchantress and the others pile into the back of the van. "You haven't even told us where we're going –?" he protests, incredulously. "- and you want _me_ to drive?"

"Head for the docks," Rick instructs, bluntly, slamming the door and climbing into the passenger seat up front. He holds his rifle into his chest with a light grip - ready to shoot and point with the barest of movements.

"That's it?" Deadshot asks, climbing into the driver's seat. "Just: head for the docks."

Rick rotates his index finger impatiently – a wordless signal. " _Yeah._ Let's get goin'."

As the van's engine starts, Rick keeps one eye on the deserted, quiet street and another on the rear-view mirror – looking through a hatch behind him to where the rest of the Squad are crammed onto benches running the length of the trunk. It's somewhat bizarre to see: the witch, Harley Quinn and Katana pressed up on one side – Slipknot and the Weasel on the other. Some of the worst criminals in America, crammed surreptitiously into the back of an old, white van.

Abruptly, Harley unbuckles herself and thrusts the top half of her body through the hatch so that her head pokes out between Rick and Deadshot. "So –" she says, blowing out a bubble of gum. "We're headin' to the docks, huh?"

"Yeah," Rick replies, curtly, keeping his eyes on the road.

"Ya _know…_ last time I checked, that was Bane's territory."

"Bane's only been here four months; last _I_ checked, you were in Arkham Aslyum then," Rick quips.

Harley shrugs. "I got contacts…So –" she looks at him. "What does that Waller-lady want with something someone like Bane got? 'Cause it _ain't_ gonna be anythin' _good_."

Rick's jaw tightens, mainly because he, also, would like to know the answer to that question. "That's need-to-know," he grinds out, eventually.

"Yeah –" Deadshot cuts in, taking a swift right down another darkened street. "See, that – that right there – that's gonna get real old, real fast. Either you start talkin', or we're goin' to start bashing some heads in. 'Cause lookin' around, there are five of us, and only two of you."

In the back, Katana is glaring down Slipknot and the Weasel who are twice her size. The tension in the air is palpable. "Listen, team work makes the dream work, man," Rick replies, calmly. "I have your back – you have mine – we get this done and we all get to walk out of this alive, which is about the best-case-scenario all you can hope for at this point."

Still, Rick keeps a close eye on the team as they get closer to the docks. There is more light here, and more people walking around. Big men in heavy jackets. Jack-hammers working, despite the lateness of the night.

" _Keepin goin'_ ," Rick mutters to Deadshot under his breath, holding his gun slightly tighter – now unsure whether he should be focusing his attention on the people trying to kill him on the inside of the van, or the people who will try to kill him who are outside of it. "That checkpoint there. Guy manning it is called 'Big Nasty'. Dock's 1 through to 5 are past him."

Deadshot pulls them up to the barrier and stops.

"Er – hey there –" he says to the thick-set bearded man with face tattoos sat in the small booth. "We got a delivery for Dock 3."

"Dock 3?" the man replies, flatly. It's unclear from his tone whether he believes them or not. Surreptitiously, Rick once again checks the rear-view mirror. The rest of the Squad are – for now – huddled obediently in the back, watching intently. Harley chews on her bubble gum rapidly as her narrowed eyes dart from Rick to Deadshot.

"Yeah, we got a –" but suddenly, Deadshot breaks off. "Look, are you the man?" he asks, with the tired air of someone cutting through an immense amount of bullshit.

"What?" the guy grunts, raising an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Big Nasty. Am I talking to Big Nasty?"

"Yeah."

Lawton reaches his arm out the window – pointing his wrist gun directly at the man's forehead – and shoots him. The silencer means that the sound is barely louder than a compressed whoosh of air.

" _What are you doing?!"_ Rick snarls, as Deadshot starts the car and reverses slightly, before shifting back into gear and driving down the side of the cement dock, around the barrier and dangerously close to the water.

"Your plan was stupid. I made a new plan."

"Fuck! Now they're gonna know we're here!" Walsh interjects – somewhat hysterically - trying to force himself up to the hatch next to Harley. He looks at Lawton accusingly. " _You fuckin' idiot_!"

"I could blow you right now," Rick tells Deadshot, evenly – ignoring the Weasel. "End this. The witch can teleport me out of here and I can leave all you like sittin' ducks. Is that what you want? Because when one of you goes down, you all go down. Trust me."

Deadshot is gripping the steering wheel too hard, his knuckles white. To Rick's surprise, he's actually gotten into the other man's head. Somewhere in there – underneath all the bravado – it actually bothers him that he might be responsible for the deaths of the Squad. As a hitman who has killed hundreds of people in cold-blood, it's sort of ironic. Maybe it's easier when you don't know them.

"Weapons locked and loaded back there?" Rick asks the others, checking over his shoulder. "We're 'bout to get a lot of heat." Sure enough, the moment Rick touches his ear-piece and begins relaying information back to the folks at mission control – " _our cover has been blown. We are about to come under a high amount of enemy fire. Over._ " – the first bullet hits the side of the van.

Harley yelps as the metal next to her head visibly dents.

Pouring out of the stacks of crates opposite the waterfront are a swarm of Bane's men. Some are positioned on the boxes themselves, other's running on the ground – dropping to one knee and aiming their weapons at them.

"Everybody out of the van!" Rick decides, on a snap decision. There were too many to simply plough straight through.

" _What?!_ " Deadshot yells at him, in disbelief.

"This is our _only_ means of transporting the package. You get my van shot up, we're not gettin' out of here. The Warehouse we need is that green one there, on the left –" he says, pointing to a large container situated _behind_ where Bane's men are positioning themselves. "Let's go. We're gonna use that crane as cover an' shoot our way through."

He's pointing to a crane parked a couple of foot across from them and Deadshot jerks the wheel hard. There's a spray of shattered glass as a bullet breaks his driver's side window, and a sound like heavy rain as a machine gun sprays the side of the van. They screech to a halt behind the crane and there's a sound of yelling as the men reposition themselves.

Rick kicks his door open forcefully and jumps out, running for the sliding door. When he opens it, however, Slipknot lunges out and punches him hard across the face.

Rick grunts, stumbling backwards. His vision momentarily blurs, but he's furiously reaching for his phone even as Slipknot jumps on him, knocking them both to the ground. The dark-haired man punches Rick across the face again – dizzying him - before grabbing the arm that is reaching for the nanite – pinning it down.

Rick reaches with his free arm and back-hands Slipknot across the jaw with all his strength. The man falls off of him and Rick is aware of the sound of gun-fire; his heart pounding too-loudly. Both of them are yelling – snarling with the effort of trying to kill each other. Scrabbling, Rick reaches for his phone and jams a finger against Slipknot's icon.

There's a dull explosion and the man's head is obliterated. Just blown clean off.

Rick lies on the ground, panting for several seconds before he watches the body slump, lifeless, to the ground.

" _Goddammit,"_ Rick swears again – rushing to his feet and trying to get his bearings. He realises that the rest of the Squad are all looking at him - everybody apart from Deadshot, who is busy using his rifle to scope round the side of the crane –utterly unconcerned whether Rick has lived or died.

"Are you alright!?" Katana demands. She rushes towards him, her sword drawn and flashing in the night – her expression fierce beneath her mask.

The Weasel's face registers vague surprise – maybe he didn't expect Slipknot to go for him, maybe he didn't expect Rick to actually kill him; Harley merely looks sour – clearly irritated that Rick has survived the attack.

"This don't look good, guys –" Deadshot reports, his voice tense with stress. "They're closing in." He looks over his shoulder at Rick, raising both eyebrows. "Yo, Captain Fantastic, you got a plan for this?"

"Would you listen to me if I did?" Rick shoots back, angrily, working one side of his jaw - trying to alleviate the pain there and force down a wave of irritation. _Keep your head in the game_ , he repeats to himself, over and over. _Just get this done._ It wouldn't help anything to lose his cool now.

"Guys – we don't have time for this –!" Harley snaps, impatiently – ducking and looking around the crane, too. She pulls back quickly when a bullet ricochets off the metal inches from her face.

Rick looks at the Enchantress, trying to think quickly. Bane's men would have to come directly parallel to them to hit them, but they have superior numbers, and Rick judges that it won't be long until they decide to draw level and engage in open fire. "Get me behind them," he says to witch. "You get me up their backside, I can kill them." He looks at the rest of the Squad. "You all make fireworks on this end…Give 'em hell. Anyone tries anything funny - you'll end up like him –" he says, toeing what is left of Slipknot's body's dispassionately.

"Whoa. Whoa. You goin' to use us as bait? I don' think so, buddy –" the Weasel snaps – unable to stop himself from recurrently glancing at the blood splatter on the ground between them. He looks round at the rest of the Squad. "We're outnumbered five to one, here."

To Rick's surprise, Deadshot is silent. He's checking the ammo in his rifle; inserting a fresh magazine and pulling back the slide to lock it in with a sharp tug. When his gaze meets Rick's, it's clear that, unlike the Weasel, he's ready for the fight.

Harley fixes each pigtail patiently, brushing loose strands of hair out of her face until everything is meticulously perfect. "Eh," she shrugs at the Weasel, offhandedly, picking her gun up from the ground. "Those guys don't scare me."

The Irishman's eyes go wide in disbelief. "You're all crazy –"

Rick doesn't have time to hear the end of his sentence; the Enchantress has appeared behind him, her hand ghosting over his shoulder possessively. In a heartbeat, they disappear and reappear further down the docks. Rick feels, for a split second, as if gravity has intensified – crushing his body in on itself like a tin can – before abruptly snapping back like an elastic band.

His back is now up against one of the crates, and it takes him a moment to realise that they are wedged into the shadowy, narrow network of paths between the containers. The waterfront is right next to them. If Rick cranes his neck enough, he can see round the lip of the crate to where Bane's men are gathered on the docks.

The Enchantress is standing too-close to him, her body pressed close up against his – only the bulky steel plates in the front of his chest armour separating them.

" _Get off of me_ –" Rick snaps, shoving her away from him. She chuckles at his discomfort, but slinks backwards all the same.

Rick lifts his rifle and uses the scope of his weapon to check on the others. He can see Harley, Deadshot, Katana and the Weasel; splashes of colour that are threatening to be engulfed by a much larger tide. They are running from point to point, using the general debris of boxes, trucks and pillars along the waterfront to provide cover. If Rick looks closely, Katana is using her sword with her left hand – her right (her usual sword arm) is clutched awkwardly against her chest. He watches as a bullet narrowly misses Deadshot's head. The marksman is moving with skilled precision – but then again, so are Bane's men. Rick's professional eye notes how they move: half-crouched and well balanced, their spacing careful and each man providing cover for the next. A deadly, ruthlessly unit moving as one. The Squad, by comparison, are messy. Less co-ordinated. Not caring to watch each other's backs, they are slowly being separated. Pretty soon, they'll be picked off one by one.

With a painful lurch in his stomach, Rick realises that they need a leader. Someone to organize them. They don't know how to fight like _this_.

The Enchantress's hand snakes over Rick's shoulder once more. " _I can get you the weapon,_ " she rasps, in his ear, as she, too, watches the carnage. This wasn't the plan, Rick thinks. This was supposed to be a secret, covert mission. They weren't supposed to be discovered. The noise is too loud. Pretty soon, the cops are going to come and check out what is going on. By then, they'll all be dead. " _…I can get us out of here. Alive."_

Katana is fighting just as fiercely left-handedly. Rick watches her slash at a man's throat who gets too close to Harley, protecting the blonde woman whilst she provides return-fire. There's a large, circular stain of blood on Katana's arm that is obviously leaking from a gun-shot wound, but it is clear the girl will fight to the death.

"No –" Rick replies, gritting his teeth. "We don't leave anyone behind."

"… _I thought that was the whole point of this…operation, Colonel…"_ The Enchantress responds, dryly. " _Or did you forget that we are all…expendable?_ "

But Rick is already fiddling with the charges strapped to his belt; untying them. "That ain't how I work," he snaps back, angrily. What kind of man would it make him…to simply abandon his team on the battlefield? Tactically, it made absolute sense. Make them create a diversion – die in the process. Less people to worry about. Maybe they even deserved it. But morally…he wasn't Amanda Waller. "Go help them –!" he demands the witch. "I'm gonna go get the Converter. We can still do this!"

She blinks at him once, absolutely still. He looks at her furiously. " _What are you good for,_ huh?" he snarls at the witch, hitting a hand up against the wall of the metal crate with a bang; allowing, for a split-second, a bubble of anger to burst inside of him. "You got all these powers - so use them!"

Rick half expects her to say 'no'. He realises, with a jolt, that he has been so focused on the likes of Harley and Deadshot, that he's forgotten who his main threat is. He'd forgotten what happened the last time the Enchantress was free; he's provoking a being that could not only kill him, but kill everyone in Gotham. His movements still – he is all too conscious of his phone zipped into his sleeve pocket. All he has to do is reach it.

The Enchantress steps in close once more, and every fibre in Rick's body stiffens. He can feel her breath on his face. " _Stay safe…it would be a shame…not to see this handsome face again_ –" she practically croons, running her fingers across his sharp jawline. He flinches – both at her touch, and the feel of her hand brushing the bruised swelling from Slipknot's punch. "… _see you later, baby –"_ the witch taunts – her lips brushing his own - and then she disappears.

A few seconds later, the witch re-appears with a deliberate flash of blue light directly in the midst of Bane's men. The light is a bright, alien blue and the closest mercenary's fumble, momentarily blinded. Whilst they are still unable to see, the Enchantress punches both hands into the chests of the nearest pair – ripping out their hearts and dropping the organ's to the floor dispassionately. Before the other men can train their weapons on her and shoot, the Enchantress has already teleported again – re-appearing with another flash of light a few feet away…ripping out another heart. Soon, the docks are filled with yelling, stray gun-fire and the confusing, pulsating bursts of blue that punctuate the darkness. Bane's men are unable to keep rank – they fumble. Begin to make mistakes.

Rick forces himself to stop watching with difficulty, turning grimly back to the task at hand.

 _Just get this done_ , he says to himself – succeeding in detaching the charges from his belt; using the mantra to block out all other thoughts. He imagines himself back in the hotel room, looking at June – fixing the memory in his mind. _Get this done._

Rick sets the charges and blows the door of the crate off its hinges. Ironically, it is the sound of the explosion and not the noise of rapid gunfire that sets off two nearby pit-bulls chained to a shed. They must be trained to detect thieves, and right now they are straining against their chains – baring their teeth at him and snarling.

Rick steps through the smoke. The only thing inside the crate is the Converter. It is smaller than he thought it would be – but still too big for one person to carry. A steel, cylindrical tube about the size of his torso with a coil of conductive tubing wrapped around it. It sits, inert, waiting to be activated through a keypad attached to its side. The whole thing looks slightly shoddy, as if it's been thrown together in someone's shed. Not like the kind of high-tech machinery he usually saw A.R.G.U.S use. He wonders what the Russians have dreamed up that Waller's people weren't able to.

Rick sets to work unplugging the various wires, but whips round – his gun held at the ready – when there's a sound of a car approaching – rubble being shifted.

To his surprise, their white van – dented and pock-marked with bullets – pulls up with a screech and Harley jumps out, looking at the truck appraisingly. "It's kind of dinged up," she reports to him, "and the engine was shot through so I had to patch up the oil tank, but whatever. You can thank me later."

Rick lowers his weapon automatically. "You guys all made it?" he asks, unable to keep the surprise out of his voice. Somewhere inside of him, unbelievably, there is also a small twinge of relief. He had been sure that they were all gonners.

"Well – Walsh ain't lookin' too hot –" Harley grimaces, as Deadshot limps into view supporting the Weasel's body against his own. The Irish man's shirt is torn and ruined with maybe two or three gun-shot wounds and there's a worryingly dark mess of blood on the right side of his head. Lawton drops him unceremoniously to the floor, where he slumps – coughing and swearing, clutching his chest.

"How you wanna do this?" Deadshot asks Rick – his tone acerbic as he walks over until they are toe-to-toe. "You wanna shoot him or shall I?"

"What?"

"That's how this works, right? We're dispensable. No dead weight. Well, you can just shoot him in the head right now, 'cause he's just goin' to slow us down."

Rick grits his jaw, rising to the other man's unspoken challenge. He wants to prove that he's not the sadistic asshole that they clearly think he is. "Nobody's gettin' shot in the head, okay? Just - help me get this in the car."

Deadshot's eyes flick from Rick, to the Converter behind him. He strolls round him to get a better look at the machine, his rifle dangling from one hand at his side. Though neither he nor Harley are physically hurt, both of them look distinctly ruffled; smears of dirt on the clothes and light scratches and grazes on their skin. "Oh, so _this_ is what all this has been about? This piece of junk right here?"

Rick shrugs, pulling out another handful of wires. "Somebody wants it, it's our job to get it for them."

Somewhere behind the pair of them, the Weasel groans and spits a glob of blood out onto the ground. Rick looks over his shoulder in time to see Katana kneeling over the injured man. "He's not going to last much longer," the young woman says, looking up at him worriedly.

Rick and Deadshot heave the Converter between them.

"What about you?" Rick mutters as they pass the young girl, looking at the awkward way she is clutching her right arm. "Are you okay to keep goin'?"

Katana's expression shutters behind her mask. She straightens upright from her crouch, her back stiff. "I'll be fine," she bites back, so angrily it's as if he's just insulted her mother. But Rick's not so sure he believes her.

He and Deadshot load the Converter up into the back of the van. Quietly – so the others won't hear – the other man leans in seriously. "That witch bitch you got…we were screwed until she showed up…" he says to Rick, seriously. "She had this…machete…blade…thing," he says, miming holding it – swinging his arms like he's holding a baseball bat – " – killed about thirteen guys in a minute. I watched her _rip_ their _hearts_ out…an' the bullets? Didn't touch her. You gotta tell me, man…where'd you guys find her?"

"In a cave in Mexico."

"You're kidding."

Rick takes a deep breath, knowing that he is walking perilously close to classified information. And not just classified information, but information that could get him or June killed. "It's complicated," he replies.

Deadshot watches him closely through narrowed eyes as he trots back around the back of the van to the others. "Alrigh' – load him in –" Rick says, to Harley and the Enchantress, looking at the Weasel. His pale skin – which had looked pretty bloodless to start with – is now utterly devoid of colour.

"Ya know-" the Irishman reminisces, from where he is sitting with his back propped up against the van – his legs stretched out in front of him. "I've been doin' this about twenty years. Not _once_ have I bin shot. I mean, my cousin Benny shot me in the foot once, but that don't count 'cause we were only eight at the time an' it was pretty funny. Now I just been shot about fifty- _thousand_ fuckin' times."

"- You might wanna save your breath, friend," Rick tells him, rolling his eyes.

"Eh – fuck you –" the Irishman coughs back, petulantly. "I'm tellin' you I've been cursed. My lucks all run out. Yer fuckin' witch _cursed_ me, ya prick" – he grumbles.

"Are you kidding me? We wouldn't be _alive_ right now if she hadn't saved us!" Harley shoots back, impatiently, as Walsh pushes himself to his feet.

"I'm _tellin'_ you that thing is unlucky –" the Irishman snaps – before a bullet skips the dock and hits him square between the eyes.

Harley cries out, jumping back away from the Weasel's dead body as Rick and Deadshot whirl round. One of Bane's injured men have stumbled to their feet – their left leg broken and dragging awkwardly behind them. Somehow, however, they still manage to hold their weapon with deadly precision. They twitch it in Rick's direction, but abruptly Katana rushes forward with a wild yell. The man tries to pivot to fire at her – but with his broken leg he fumbles and misses – and with one clean stroke Katana opens him up, belly to throat, with a scream.

"… _Oh my God_!" Harley murmurs, looking vaguely disturbed as she stares at the large splatter of blood and gore the back of Sal's head has left on the side of the van, rather than the dead mercenary. Perhaps she hadn't expected him to die so quickly, or unexpectedly. Rather than going down in a blaze of glory, the man has merely been hit by a rogue bullet. There was no significance in a death like that. No lasting meaning. He'd been a criminal - been _someone,_ in his own way - for twenty years, and now he was gone. And it meant nothing.

In the night Katana is now moving from body to body – her dark hair falling into her eyes as she runs each one through with her sword, regardless of whether they are dead or not. There is a determined, methodical rhythm to her movements – as if she is determined they should not be caught out again. Rick watches her kneel next to her fifth body (that is obviously already in the next life) and – with only minimal visible hesitation – plunge her sword into their chest.

Did death mean anything, really?

* * *

 **A/N** Happy new year everybody!

I decided to switch up the team slightly for this chapter because I wanted to highlight how expendable the members of the Suicide Squad are. I also wanted to emphasise the dangers and also I thought it would be cool if Harley, Deadshot and Rick already had some kind of relationship before the events of Midway. Rest-assured the same Squad will be used for Midway as in the film (apart from Slipknot, obviously.)

The mission's not over yet, so there's another chapter from Rick's POV still to come!

Let me know what you thought. Personally, I love humanising the Enchantress, so a lot of the scenes with her in were a blast to write.

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	37. Chapter 37

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 37**

* * *

 _ **Rick**_

From somewhere in the depths of Gotham there is the echoing sound of sirens wailing, getting closer. A helicopter's blades can be heard thumping, cloaked by cloud and the night sky.

Feeling as if he is not truly a part of his own body, Rick looks around himself at the carnage on the docks. There are bodies and blood everywhere. Stray bullet casings. Parked cars and abandoned crates riddled with pock marks. In the back of their little white van is a machine of mass destruction. He feels as if he's seeing something that he can't quite make sense of. Rick has seen battlefields. He has run missions in the middle-east; kicked down doors and infiltrated terrorist networks. But he's never worked with super-villains, and he's never been on the 'wrong' side of the law in this way before.

Rick hesitates for one more second – casting another glance around the waterfront – before he pops the door for the passenger seat. It is fragile; the metal has been pummeled out of shape and he has to tug hard to get it to crunch out of its frame. He ignores the dead body of the Weasel slumped on the ground and calls out to Katana who is still prowling in among the dead. She's doing what she's got to do, and Rick doesn't really care, but now they have to go.

" _Hey_ -!" he yells over to her. "Wrap it up. We're movin' out." He feeds out his seat belt and buckles in, glancing at Harley when she climbs into the driver's side. She revs the engine too many times – clearly more of a hell-for-leather driver than Lawton. The others pile into the back of the van, wedging themselves around the Converter.

"We've got a boat waiting – you reckon you can get us past the cops without bein' seen?" he asks the blonde haired woman. Rick seriously doubts their van is going to be much of a match for the cars of Gotham police department.

"Well, ain't you a regular criminal," Harley says, casting him a mischievous look.

"Actually," Rick replies, dryly, "I'm not any kind of criminal."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Harley shoots back, rolling her eyes. "It's just that, I seen you blow someone's head off. You stole something that ain't yours and _now_ you're tellin' us to run from the police. Check. Check aand….check," she ticks off on her fingers, before flashing him a grin so wide, it is almost malicious. "Honey, you fit every definition of criminal."

Predictably, he snaps. He's not sure how the Quinn girl does it, but she manages to get under his skin every time. "Look, can you just drive?!" Rick all but yells at her, his hands reflexively tightening round his gun. He has to physically restrain himself from pounding a fist into the dashboard.

Harley cackles, putting the van into gear with a worrying crunch. "Yeah," she giggles at him, pulling off. "I got your number - I know what makes you tick."

The van rattles and catches air as it bounces over something that Rick really doesn't want to guess at. The suspension's shot to hell and the tyres screech every time Harley takes a corner too quickly. The moment they get back under the cover of the houses, she's driving like a professional street racer; punching the gear box and flooring the gas to force the car to go to its highest possible speed.

Rick is listening intently to the information fed over his earpiece – the wire coiling down the back of his neck into his jacket. " _Dock is five klicks west of your current location. There are police dispatch vehicles north by north east one klick. They have not clocked you but they're looking. Keep sharp. Over."_

Harley is now on some kind of main market street – Chinese lanterns and a copious amount of cables slung overhead. Metal grills protect shop fronts and every now and then a street light will flicker spasmodically or burst with a shower of sparks. There's a vague smell of fish.

With a low whistle, Deadshot leans forward to look through the hatch behind Rick and Harley's heads. "Place looks busy," he notes, sarcastically.

"Lil' bit," Rick replies, more focused on the chatter over his wire. In the distance, there is still the distinct sound of sirens wailing.

"…like a ghost town."

"Ah, you guys are just seein' the not very nice part of Gotham. We go a little bit further that way, and its _way_ more lively. They got nice restaurants…fancy bars…good clubs…" Harley admonishes, pointing out her window towards the center of the city. Despite the fact she's hardly paying attention to the road, she's still driving well – fast; the van going straight as an arrow. The windscreen has a large, spider web crack on Rick's side, but he just about makes out far sleeker, glittering sky scrapers towering in the distance. "I almost _never_ come this far out…or, I _used_ to not."

"Uh-huh? How come you know it so well, then?" Deadshot asks, shrewdly.

"'Cause I grew up in this neighborhood," Harley sniffs, peering up at the grey jungle of buildings with an expression of morbid interest. "I mean, thank _God_ I got outta here when I did, ya know? It ain't changed at all. My Dad _always_ used ta send me down with a coupla dollars to that shop there to get him his whisky and then I'd cash in his bets across the street at that shop _there_ ….I used to know _everybody_ here when I was a kid. The guy who ran the bettin' place was called Jose and used to fix the horse racin', but let me tell ya, that man was half the reason I passed AP Spanish – and I'm serious –" she adds, as if Rick and Lawton wouldn't believe her. "I mean, _Que genio -!_ " she says, talking animatedly and too-fast. For someone who claimed to hate where they grew up, there's an oddly bright light in her eyes. Rick wonders when the last time she visited this place was, and then catches himself. Why should he _care_ about Harley Quinn's past? The girl was psychopathic.

"Sounds like a real good upbringing you had there, Harls," Deadshot replies, sarcastically. "Dad of the year, right there."

"Uh, comin' from the guy that's in _jail_ and has a kid?!" Harley glares at the bald-headed man, looking over her shoulder before returning her eyes to the road and shrugging amiably. "But yeah…my Pa was a nasty piece a' work, I ain't gonna try to deny it. I mean, I _think_ he's still alive out there somewhere…?...But let me tell you, no kid of mine is _eva_ meetin' that man. He ain't seein' his grandchildren. An' I don' care what people say about family – that bridge burned down a _long_ time ago."

Deadshot raises one eyebrow. "You got it all planned out then, huh?"

"Oh yeah! I'm goin' to have a girl first an' we're goin' to paint the nursery _eggshell_ _yellow_. I _wanted_ ta go for pink, but that way we don't have to re-paint it if it's a boy."

"And…just to clarify…the 'we' in that sentence is –?"

"Me and Mistah J," she replies, matter-of-factly, before looking back out the window. "Oooh, Mrs Wong's Thai food restaurant is still goin'!"

For once in their lives, Rick and Lawton seem to be on the same page. Both men manage to keep straight faces, but Deadshot is unable to fully cover the look of dubiousness and Rick suppresses an eye-roll with difficulty. Apparently, compared to her alcoholic father, Harley seemed to think the Joker qualified as parenting material.

Fresh information is relayed through from A.R.G.U.S to Rick. " _Police are set to intersect your route at 4_ _th_ _street. Over."_

"Cops are adjusting their route," Rick reports to Harley. "There's activity ahead. We need another way round."

"I gotcha," Harley nods, jerking the wheel unexpectedly and taking a hard left down a street so narrow it is practically an alley. One of their wing-mirror's catch a steel dumpster and pings off. Harley races down the street, the van's engine worryingly loud – apparently unconcerned by the noise. They swing out on another market street, slightly wider than the last one – loose garbage strewn across the pavements. Harley is still heading for 4th street, but they'll now hopefully get onto it ahead of the police…or so Rick thinks until a voice comes over his line again: " _Spotter on your right._ "

Sure enough, when Rick checks out his window he can see the flashing blue and red of the cop car's lights intermittently down the alleyways that flash past. "We've got a spotter vehicle at three o clock," he tells Harley, his voice tight.

"Screw that –" Harley says, fishing round next to her for her golden, souped-up revolver. Rick grabs her wrist.

" _Hey_ \- nobody's shooting any cops!" he snaps, angrily.

"Why are you such a _Grandma_?!" Harley all but screams back at him, over the roar of the engine.

"Suck it up, sweetheart," he calls back, sardonically, as he keeps his gaze fixed straight ahead. "How long 'til 4th street?"

"Well this is 2nd, so –" she replies, as they shoot across an intersection. Barely moments behind, the spotter car blasts across the junction further up. The siren is so loud, it seems like it could wake up the entire city.

" _You have several bogies approaching at 12 o clock_."

Rick frowns, speaking into the mic on the lapel of his jacket. "Police?"

" _Negative. They are driving unmarked vehicles. We suspect they could be hostile._ "

Suddenly, four, large motorbikes going a hell of a lot faster than they are shoot past in the opposite direction, right past Rick's window. The men are all wearing helmets, and they're going too fast for him to get a decent look.

"Uh – who are they?" Deadshot interjects, looking through the hatch as the men speed past. Suddenly, however, the screenpad on the Converter in the back of the van switches itself on.

 _[CONNECTION ESTABLISHED]_ the writing blinks.

"Hey, did that thing just turn on?!" Harley asks, checking quickly over her shoulder. "What _is_ that? A _bomb_ or something?!"

In the rear-view mirror, Rick watches the bikes screech to a halt in the middle of the road and then turn and speed after their van.

"It's Bane –" he realises, turning back to face the front.

" _What_?" Harley demands, her eyes wide - even fearful.

"Just keep your eyes on the road. We need to shake 'em –" Rick tells her, using the butt of his rifle to knock out what little glass is left in his window.

"What about the cops?!" Harley protests, but Rick is too busy focusing on the men who are on much faster, more mobile bikes, and are rapidly gaining on them.

"We can shoot this guy, right?" Deadshot yells, as Rick keeps one eye on the van's side-mirror, waiting for one of the bikes to swing out far enough for him to shoot at one. But they're smart – keeping in a tight, close formation right in his blindspot.

"Yeah," he yells back to the hit-man, "these guys you can shoot. Stack 'em up."

Deadshot pulls down his red eye-piece, and walks unsteadily to the back of the van, holding his rifle ready into his shoulder. "Yo, ninja-girl – you wanna do the honors?" he asks Katana, nodding to the double doors.

Katana jumps up instantly, putting her hand on the handle. The samurai looks unwaveringly at Deadshot, waiting for his cue.

He nods, just barely, and Katana opens the door to reveal Bane's men streaking up the road right behind them.

"Merry Christmas, asshole," Deadshot mutters, firing a single bullet at the tire of the lead biker. It bursts, sending the bike careening out of control – flipping and sliding out from beneath the first man. With cold precision, the remaining three bikes dodge the body of their comrade and re-group.

" _Shit_ -!" Harley screeches, as the spotter police car abruptly blasts out of an alley in front them. One of the cop's hang out their window – firing a small handgun, and Harley twists the wheel hard – veering onto the other side of the street. Deadshot, who had been about to fire at the second of Bane's men, loses his balance and is roughly thrown back up against the van wall.

"You mind, Harley?" he snarls at her.

"I'm tryin' to do my job! Quit whuppin' on me –" Harley snaps back, her eyes fierce with concentration as the cop car cuts out in front of them once more, breaking deliberately to slow their van. Harley slams down on the breaks hard and Bane's men take the opportunity to pull out alongside them – one of the biker's drawing level with Rick and firing through his window. The other man is holding what looks like a mobile phone in one hand, punching something into it.

[ _WEAPON ACTIVATED_ ] the Converter in the back of the van blinks, the graphics on the screen grainy and grey. A small loading bar appears underneath the writing. [ _LOADING BACK-UP POWER…ESTIMATED INPUT:_ ….] suddenly, a long and complicated looking math equation fills the screen rapidly. _ESTIMATED OUTPUT….._ ]

"I think they are trying to explode the van!" Katana cries out, lurching over to look at the read-out on the machine. She's still holding her right arm awkwardly, her body hunched in the cramped space of the truck. Her face is grim and drawn with pain.

"Can't you just turn it off?" Rick snaps back at her, trying to focus on about five different things at once.

" _No_?!" she replies, angrily – with the tone of an annoyed teenager trying to explain technology to a parent. "They have some kind of override!"

" _Road block on 3_ _rd_ _street. Complete obstruction. Over._ "

" _Fuck_ ," Rick hisses to himself, trying to think quickly. In the rear-view mirror, he can see the Enchantress watching him steadily, unconcerned by the goings on outside – her eyes never wavering from his. The blackness swirls around her like a promise. None of this, her stance clearly says – the police; Bane – none of it is really a problem. She and Rick can just teleport out of there. Sure, Waller would be irritated that the mission had failed and they hadn't managed to retrieve the weapon. She might even be mildly annoyed that Rick wasted some perfectly good Suicide Squad members on nothing, but then again, he has the feeling she has plenty more locked away. But Rick can't make himself just _give up_. He doesn't like admitting defeat. He doesn't like the idea of simply abandoning his team after so many years fighting with the objective that no man was left behind – even if that team was now a squad of meta-human criminals and villains. Most of all, it would justify everything Deadshot thought about him if Rick was to just call it a day now.

He was going to see this through to the end, no matter what.

"Take a right," he orders Harley, abruptly.

"That takes us _away_ from the docks, Einstein –" she replies through gritted teeth, pulling sharply into one of Bane's men and succeeding in knocking them off their bike with a thud that shakes the whole van.

Rick checks over his shoulder to see that the loading bar on the Converter is almost done. He growls, pointing his rifle out the window and firing a short spray of bullets at the bulkiest of Bane's men. The man manages to swerve just in time, his bike engine revving with a high-pitched sound as it accelerates fast to catch up again. From the back of the van there's a sound of crunching as a harpoon is fired – punching a hole through the back door and ripping it clean off its hinges.

" _Hey, witch lady?!"_ Harley yells out, ducking reflexively as a bullet fired by the cops up ahead breaks through the windscreen. " _Some of that magic ju-ju would be real helpful right now!_ "

" _I am not your performing monkey_ -!" the Enchantress snarls from behind them, bracing herself against a wall to keep herself stable. " _I am not to be carted out as some –_ "

" – SHUT UP AND DO SOMETHIN'!" Rick yells over her, impatiently.

In the back, one of Bane's men is boarding the vehicle. He knocks Deadshot hard across the face with his helmet before Katana leaps onto his back with a cry - her legs wrapping tightly around the massive man's expansive chest. He struggles, trying to throw her off, but she braces her sword against his neck and then drags it across with a jerk, slitting his throat. Whatever device the man had been using to control the Converter is in his jacket, and Deadshot kicks the body off the back of the van without remorse the moment he retrieves it.

" _We are unable to find a safe passage to the boat. Re-directin' to safe house to await extraction, over,"_ Rick reports, into his mic.

"… _Deal with your tail first, then head to safe house._ "

Behind Rick, the Enchantress mutters something under her breath to herself before she shuts her eyes and de-materializes – appearing outside the van in the middle of the road up ahead. She is half in shadow, almost invisible in the night but gradually becoming clearer as the bright headlights of the spotter car get closer. Standing in the middle of Gotham like this, she really does look like an alien. The chains, tattoos and the vague layer of dirt covering her skin all make her look as if she has been spliced from another world and dropped into theirs. The witch's eyes do not waver from the cop car.

" _We're about to_ ," Rick reports, calmly, into the mic.

" _Oooh, you're about to be in trroouuble_ ," Harley grins, smirking at the police as she deliberately falls back.

The moment the headlights illuminate her, the Enchantress holds up a hand. And like _abra kadabra_ , the car abruptly just…disappears. Like it's been sucked into a wormhole. One moment it's there, creating bloody hell – its siren's wailing and its lights flashing – and the next moment, all Rick can hear in the sudden vacuum of silence is the sound of their own tires turning and their engine rattling.

He leans forwards jerkily in time to see that the cops themselves are rolling to a stop on the middle of the road. The thrust of momentum hadn't ceased when the car had disappeared, apparently; they are bruised and battered, but alive.

"Ho- _ly shit_ ," Deadshot comments, from the back of the van. He's sat on one of the benches, momentarily distracted from prodding at a bloody, split lip. Katana makes a sound like a sniff, and the bald-headed man looks at her. "C'mon, spider-monkey, even _you_ gotta admit that was kinda cool."

"It's unnatural," Katana replies, indifferently – not taking her eyes off of the Enchantress as the witch teleports back into the van. Her good hand hovers over the handle of her sword – the blade of which is smeared with fresh, wet blood.

Rick swears the Enchantress rolls her eyes at Katana's words. " _A thank you would suffice,_ " she replies, sarcastically, inspecting her nails.

"Thank you," Rick throws over his shoulder – knowing that they need to keep the witch on-side. He continues brusquely: "We're not goin' to make it to the boat," Rick interrupts the team's celebrating. They clearly think they're in the final stretch of the mission. "They've set up a road block ahead. We've got a safe house a coupl'a blocks from here. We'll go there. Wait for A.R.G.U.S to come get us."

"Uh, I don't think so –" Deadshot says, with surprising vehemence. He straightens upright and walks up to the hatch behind Rick's head. The van is in piss poor condition. One of the back doors has been blown off and the windscreen is so cracked and shot up it's a miracle Harley can see through it. Tiny shards of shattered glass cover the dashboard and the floor.

"Hey, listen. I don't really care what you think. You do as I say," Rick replies, unconcerned – not looking at the other man.

"I ain't following you another step." Deadshot fires back. "I want this thing over. I want this done. Y'know what? Right now, I actually wanna get that machine loaded up, and then go back to prison. An' that says _a lot_ about your hospitality, dude. They fed us on, like, toenails in there."

Harley throws a glance at Lawton, incredulous. "Why are you in such a rush to get back to that place, huh? You been in there a _whole_ year. Don'tcha wanna live a little?" She seems utterly content with the change of plan – and ridiculously fond of their beaten-up van. Rick can't help but think that Harley is a little _too_ at ease. A little too cool with his decisions. He's wondering if it's a front; if she's merely waiting for an opening to escape off into the night and reunite herself with the Joker. She twiddles the wheel and turns up a street without checking first if it's clear.

"Because this ain't freedom, Harley," Deadshot says, bluntly – waving a finger pointedly at the corners of the cell-like hatch he has been forced to talk to them through. "We ain't free. We're still prisoners out here, just like we were in there. An' I don't know if you noticed – but we started out with like two more guys than this. But naw, we're supposed to act like we're just cool with everything. Well I ain't cool with holing up in some skanky-ass safe house with you, choirboy. D'you hear me? I don't wanna be around you any longer than I have to, 'cause every minute I spend on this crazy-ass mission – with _you_ \- is another minute where I am definitely-maybe gonna get killed. My chances of survival are like...this big right now -" Deadshot says, holding up a finger and thumb pinched together so that only a miniscule amount of space is left between them.

"I got you this far. I can get you out of here. Just trust me."

"Trust you? Yeah. Okay –" Lawton shoots back, sarcastically, but moves to take a seat once more.

Rick rolls his eyes, looking out of the window and assessing the street around them. "Look, everyone just stay frosty, alrigh'? I don' want any cops spotting us again."

But their path – which takes them away from the carnage at the docks – is clear save for the odd homeless person or drunk. At one point, a thief carrying a hastily half-zipped duffel bag of money sprints past in the opposite direction, dollar bills floating through the air behind him. Rick looks at him and wonders when it was that Waller decided criminals could be useful asset.

The safe-house is the same as every grimy building lining the waterfront. A grey block of flats with rickety, broken fire-escapes and paper-thin windows. Rick hops out of the van and holds a garage door open; Harley drives in without question.

The safe-house is an abandoned apartment, covered wall-to-wall in ugly, pin-stripe wallpaper that gives the whole place a Depression-era vibe. There is damp on the ceiling, and little furniture to speak of. The kitchen cupboards hang off their hinges and when Rick nudges the door to the apartment open with one foot, it swings open easily.

 _Some safe house_ , he thinks to himself, sarcastically.

All business, he pulls the lock across the door and moves to the windows to shut all the curtains. There is no sign of Bane's men – or the cops – and when Rick glances at the block of flats directly across from them, he sees only boarded up windows.

Deadshot tries a light switch and a bulb overhead fuzzes to life weakly, only intensifying the long, dark shadows cast in the corners of the room.

"Nice crib they hooked you up with," the hitman comments, sarcastically, looking around them. Harley traces the ugly wallpaper with a finger, her expression distant and her mind clearly elsewhere.

Katana is the last through the door and Rick notices that her face is still drawn with pain.

"Sit down –" he instructs the young girl – pointing to a high-backed, moth-eaten arm chair.

"Why?"

"'Cause you're hurt. You should've said something earlier," Rick replies, unstrapping a tiny, compact first aid kit from his uniform. He pulls out a bandage long enough to tie around her arm that will act as a tourniquet. But Katana only stands watching him. "You wanna bleed to death 'cause of your pride?" he drawls, unable to think of anything more stupid – before her jerks his head towards the chair one more time. "Sit-down."

This time, Katana does as she's told. She pulls off her mask, but she may as well have left it on: her face is rigid and set, for all the emotion it shows. She shrugs out of her black jacket wordlessly, revealing a hole in her bicep about the size of a dime. The bullet went clean through. Which is probably a good thing.

Rick begins to tie the bandage around the top of Katana's arm tightly. The young girl's face spasms in pain, but she doesn't make a sound.

"You alrigh'?" Rick checks, as he finishes tightening his makeshift tourniquet and sets to work disinfecting the wound. "That's a man-sized hit you took there."

Katana throws him a bleak glare that clearly tells him that she can handle pain as well as any man.

When Rick dabs at the edges of the hole, she hisses under her breath.

"You gonna say anything, or are you just gonna sulk?"

"I am not sulking," the samurai replies, firmly – though she refuses to look at him, her gaze fixed on a spot somewhere past his left shoulder. "I have failed you on this mission. I am sorry. I am not worthy."

"I'd say you all did pretty good, given that we were outnumbered."

" _Pretty good_ ," the young woman mutters in disgust.

"You want a sticker, too?" Rick rolls his eyes, throwing one bloody wipe to the ground and picking a fresh one out of the kit. "This ain't graded, y'know."

"I was appointed to protect you…but I could not stop that man from attacking you. I was shot by a mere foot-soldier…I was useless."

"Hey – don't beat yourself up about it, sweetheart," Deadshot says, sardonically, throwing himself down on a nearby chair. He twirls a finger in the air. "You'll have _plenty_ of other chances to prove yourself. We're goin' to be doin' this _again_ and _again_ …once you're on this carousel, the only way off is in a body-bag. Ain't that right?"

Rick shoots the other man a glare that Lawton ignores, and finishes cleaning up Katana's wound to the best of his limited abilities. He straightens out of his crouch and hesitates before patting her on the shoulder. "He's right…don't beat yourself up."

Katana doesn't respond, merely staring into her lap with her jaw clenched tight. Rick turns away and moves into the adjacent kitchen to throw the used antiseptic wipes in the bin. The moment he walks in there, he immediately wishes he hadn't separated himself from the others.

" _You realize I am not one of your guns to point and shoot…_ " the Enchantress says, coldly – her voice slightly sharper than it's usual, husky rasp. She's standing behind Rick, and when he faces her she's toying with the chains round her neck. It's weird, seeing her in the grimy kitchen space in what amounts to little more than a bikini. Rick wishes A.R.G.U.S had thought to put her in some clothes, although he knows the witch probably would have sneered at the attempt.

"Look, like it or not, you're part of a team now. You gotta work with us."

" _I saved your asses out there...Twice,"_ she says, the imperious tone at odds with the modern American slang. " _You would have died without me."_

"My word," Rick replies, smirking. "Where'd you learn language like that?"

The witch makes a sound of disgust low in the back of her throat. " _I've learnt a thing or two_... _living in this century._ "

"You don't like it much?" he guesses, judging by her tone.

"… _Your machines…your corporations…your governments…all new ways to enslave. All new ways to destroy. And you're not even done yet._ "

"Says who?"

But she merely looks at him as if he's missed some vital, obvious piece of the puzzle.

Rick's shoulders hunch. Defensiveness creeps into his voice, disguised as aggression. "Listen," he says, folding his arms, "whilst we're talkin', I'm gonna tell you: cut it out with the back-chat."

" _You don't like people challenging you…do you?_ " the Enchantress smirks, slinking closer. " _Unless – of course – it's June Moone._ "

She pushes the right button. He grabs the witch by the arm tight, pulling her in. "Say her name any louder," he hisses at her sharply – glancing quickly out of the kitchen to make sure neither Harley nor Deadshot heard the mention of June. "Fuckin' do it."

" _Are you afraid of what they'll do when they find out whose body this is?...I could change back into her now…and you and your girlfriend would be stuck in this hole surrounded by psychopaths…_ "

Rick clenches his jaw, trying to force himself not to rise to her bait. "…you wouldn't," he says, eventually; the rational part of his brain knowing that she _can't_.

" _I don't like being treated like a toy,_ " the witch threatens, looking up into Rick's angry face calmly. " _I want to get out of this pathetic, pitiful group of criminals. It's beneath me._ "

"Actually, I think you fit in pretty good," he shoots back, abruptly thinking of Melissa's death. There were no words for someone that scheming, manipulative and cold-hearted. It had almost destroyed June. He had no sympathy for the fact that A.R.G.U.S were using the Enchantress. As far as he was concerned, turnaround was fair play.

The witch sighs, before reaching up to cup the side of his neck. Rick's still got a firm grip on her arm, and doesn't have time to step away. He flinches at the contact. " _You don't like it when I touch you, do you?_ " she muses, the corner of her mouth tugging upwards. She lets her hand rest on his skin – her thumb pushed up against his main artery.

A wordless snarl forms on Rick's lips, but before he can reply, Harley appears in the doorway.

"Whoa…what kind of kinky crap are _you_ guys into?" she asks. "Hey, I'm not normally one to _judge_ …but I don't think your girlfriend is goin' to be too happy when she finds out about this -" she tells Rick, pointing between the two of them.

Rick shoves the Enchantress away from him pointedly, resisting the urge to rub the front of his jacket down – as if that weird, swirling black magic might have left some kind of tangible residue.

Luckily, Harley just strides between them both and begins to check through all the empty cupboards. "I'm _hungry_ ," she whines – and for all of the theatricality, he knows she's telling the truth. Beneath the makeup, her face is pale and she's too-skinny beneath her red top. "Why isn't there any food in this place, huh? I'm back out in the free world! I should be, like, stuffing my face with pizza…Oooh, actually, ya know what I could really do with right now? A super fancy three course meal. I'd have bruschetta for starters –"

"Yeah, well, deal with it – I ain't your baby sitter," Rick interrupts, pushing past the two women – not wanting to stay in the apartment with these people another second. Like Deadshot, he's beginning to wish he'd at least tried to make it for the boat…or died in a car crash. "You can eat when you go back to prison, how 'bout that?"

Harley straightens and turns round, putting her hands on her hips. "You're an asshole, you know that?"

He probably is, but right now, Rick couldn't care less. He throws one, level glare at the Enchantress, and stalks out of the room.

" _It's me_ –" he mutters into his mic, walking back into the living area and towards a window – looking out of a gap between the curtains at the dark, oily streets below. A far cry from the sunlit streets of the suburbs in Charlotte that he and June had left behind a week ago. The leaves on the trees had just been beginning to turn a crisp orange when they had left. "... _when the hell are you getting me outta here_?"

* * *

 **A/N** There are some chapters (like the last one) that come easy, but then there are some (like _this_ one) that are an absolute bitch to write. I have no idea why this was so hard to get down - maybe because I haven't written a proper action seen in a long time. I did have loads of fun writing the car chase, though. I do my best to stick with the 'realistic' elements the DC universe are trying to infuse into their superhero movies.

Thank you to all my readers who continue to stick with this story. Following a fic from the first chapter to it's 37th is crazy, and I find it so cool that some of you guys have been reading since I first posted this, straight after Suicide Squad hit the cinema. I am now really looking forward to seeing what Margot Robbie and David Ayer do with _Gotham Sirens_ (hopefully they put together a better script!)

Please remember to **review**!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


	38. Chapter 38

**WITH THE LIGHTS OUT**

* * *

 **CHAPTER 38**

* * *

 _ **June**_

The world around June suddenly becomes visible, along with a jarring sense of detachment. She knows that she is just regaining consciousness after the Enchantress has taken over her body; but always in those first few moments, June forgets that there is even a witch possessing her in the first place. Everything is just as surreal and confusing as birth. As usual, it takes her a while to access memories, and even longer for her to figure out what her final memory was. The whole process sort of reminds her of that film, _Memento_ – with an equally high chance that she has probably killed someone.

Once June has puzzled through her final memory (night-time, on an airport runway in D.C. Cold enough to snow; Rick standing next to her) her surroundings become less abstract. She is on a helicopter, strapped into one of the seats in the aircraft's hanger. Presumably, they are on their way home after the mission in Gotham City. June cranes her neck to look out the small window, but even when she squints, she can't see anything more distinct than the sunset. Apparently, though she can materialize back into her own clothes after twenty-four hours like nothing's happened, she can't re-gain her contact lenses.

Her head is as fuzzy as her sight. Through her swimming mind, June tries to figure out why and how she has lost an entire day; it should still be night time.

Something must have gone wrong.

"Rick?" June asks, half-blind and hating it.

Into her line of sight, a large, dark smudge appears – becoming steadily visible as they get closer.

"I forgot my glasses," she says – frowning up at Rick in an attempt to make his face clearer. All she can see is that he's got his hands on his hips, and is still dressed in his army uniform. June can't make out the expression on his face. But then again, Rick rarely deviated from a permanent look of mild annoyance. "I can't see a thing. Are you okay? You're not hurt or anything, are you?"

"Nah, June, I'm fine –" he says, moving to sit next to her. She goes off of his tone to figure out how he's really feeling, and judging from the heavy sluggishness, he's beyond exhausted. His hand moves to rest on her knee and she hears him lean back in the seat with a sigh. "We just dropped the Task Force off at D.C. We're headin' to Midway City."

" _Midway_?" June's insides twist. Midway city was A.R.G.U.'s 'official' headquarters when Waller wasn't busy high-jacking state army bases to conduct small-scale round-ups of meta-humans. Midway City was on the West-Coast, even further away from their home than D.C. had been. For a moment, a wave of despair rushes through June. When was this going to _end_?

"That's where they want to take the Converter...I had no idea."

June is quiet for a long moment, a thousand questions bubbling up in her mind. She forces herself to select only the most important ones, knowing how tired Rick must be right now.

"How…how was it?" she asks, tentatively.

"Honestly? I'm just glad it's over," he replies, bluntly.

June presses her lips together and nods to herself – hearing the weary finality in his tone. Rick has always been made of tougher stuff than most people. He's told her stories of him leading his men in the harshest of conditions. She knows that, one time, he had to lead an expedition on a snowy mountain and his men had got stuck in an avalanche – buried under snow for twelve hours with only an emergency breathing tube to save them from suffocating. So it worries her that a man who can keep moral up through _that_ , now sounds as if he could happily sleep for an entire year.

Rick's hand tightens on her knee slightly. "What else d'you wanna know?" he asks, his tired voice now holding a trace of amusement, as if he can sense her impatience.

"Every tiny little detail –" June half-jokes, though she's being mostly serious. "So...you got the weapon?"

"Yup."

"What day is it? I thought you said it would only take an hour…but the sun's setting so –"

"It's still the same day, don' worry," he reassures her – knowing that she's panicking slightly. "We had to hole up in a safe house for…'bout seven hours, give or take."

"Why?"

Rick blows out a deep breath, and June can just about make out him rubbing a hand down his face. "Maybe I should just start from the beginning –"

" – no," she protests, quickly. "You're tired – you can fill me in on everything later. Just give me the…the straight facts for now. That's all I need."

"Okay…well…we lost the Weasel and Slipknot pretty quick –"

June is physically unable to stop herself from interrupting, even though she promised herself she wouldn't pester him. " _How_?!"

"I blew Slipknot –"

" _Why_?!"

"He tried to attack me half-way through a damn shoot-up," Rick bites out – sounding as if a threat on his life is more of an idiotic inconvenience than an actual emergency.

"Rick, he could have _killed_ you!"

"'s not the way it went down, June. Guy's head got blown clean off. You don' come back from that."

"Okay, that's disgusting," June wrinkles her nose at the thought of Rick activating the bomb injected into the criminals' necks. Rick snorts like she's said something funny. "…and the Weasel?" she adds.

"Got hit by a rogue bullet. Couldn'ta stopped it if we tried…just…one of those things, you know? Came out of nowhere."

June's mind races at the words 'shoot-up' and 'rogue-bullet'. Rick was making a covert, secret operation sound like the wild west. _Why_ on earth had they had to change plan and divert to the safe house? How had it gone so badly wrong?

"Do you think Waller will be angry that they're dead?" she asks, eventually.

"Nah. Slipknot would never have fallen in line an' the Weasel wasn't really cut out for it in the first place. She won't care. She's got plenty more meta's locked up to replace those two with…Deadshot and that Quinn girl actually did pretty good. They were kinda useful when they weren't bein' a pain in the ass."

"Katana?"

"Got shot – but she'll live –" Rick adds, quickly, before June can ask if she's alright. "She's actually righ' there gettin' patched up –" he says, pointing down to the end of the hanger where June can make out a fuzzy group of people. "- if you weren't so blind, you would'a seen her straight away."

June kicks his shin in retaliation at the dig.

"Hey –" he shoots at her, though he doesn't move his hand from her knee. After several moments quiet, he asks: "…so? What else you want to know – 'cause that can't be it."

But June shakes her head. "Rick, you've been awake _two_ _days_ straight, just have a nap."

He rolls his eyes. "…I'm used to it."

"Sure you are. But you're not superhuman, hun," she chastises, lightly. "You need to sleep. The mission's over now…I can wake you up when we land."

It doesn't take much persuading. Under June's watchful gaze, Rick rests his head back against his seat, cracking one eye open to look at her. "You don't wanna sleep, too?" he checks, curiously.

June almost rolls her eyes. She's just had the equivalent of a day-long nap. She's wide awake. "I'm fine."

"Alrigh'…lemme know if you need a guide dog or somethin' to find your way around…" he teases, folding his arms comfortably across his chest and shutting his eyes.

"You're hilarious."

June waits until she's sure that Rick is asleep. There are a million questions still racing through her mind, but her first priority will always be him. The need for him to not only be 'OK', but also happy is now almost a primal instinct – it takes her aback how important his health and happiness is to her. Way above her own, on her mental list of priorities. It's an oddly vulnerable feeling – but one that she's getting used to.

June unstraps herself from her seat and makes her way across the hanger – squinting to make out her surroundings and feeling like an idiot. Katana is sat on her own seat; the medics, apparently satisfied with her condition, have dispersed. There's a bulky, thick pad of gauze taped to her right arm and a tray of food sits untouched next to her. June looks at the young woman with consternation.

"You're not going to eat?"

Katana shakes her head, staring down at the sword laid out across her knees. She is methodically wiping the blade down with a cloth, and June feels slightly queasy at the sight of so much blood on the rag.

"…What do you want?" Katana asks June, not impolitely. Still, June starts slightly at the directness of the question, flushing.

"Oh – um – do you mind if I sit down?"

Katana lifts her eyes to June's for the first time. She regards her in such a wary, hesitant manner, it makes June wonder what the Enchantress did whilst she was free. Now that her usual curtain of hair isn't hiding it, June can see numerous scratches and what looks like a splatter of dried blood on the girl's face. It looks like she's just been in the middle of a war zone.

"…Sure."

June picks up the food and sits down, settling the tray on her lap. It didn't exactly look appetizing…the rice starchy and lumpy, along with something dry and chewy that could have once been a pork chop.

"So…you're coming with us to Midway? You didn't want to go home?" June asks, curiously. From what she had heard of Katana, it sounded as if the warrior had been on a one-woman mission to take down the Yakuza. It didn't seem likely she would drop her quest simply to stay in America as part of Amanda Waller's Suicide Squad - unless, of course, Waller had offered the samurai something that made it worth her while.

"For now," Katana replies, shortly.

"Why?" Katana gives June a level look that tells her it's not her business, her hand stilling on her sword. But June continues to push – unable to understand the girl's inexplicable loyalty. "Why not just go home?" she asks, skeptically. It's what _she_ wanted to do more than anything.

"I believe that the man who runs the Yakuza may be a meta-human. He is a more powerful foe than any I have ever faced…Amanda Waller has promised to help me kill him in return for my services."

 _Kill or capture_? June thinks to herself, wondering if Katana is really that naïve. Then June has to remind herself that Katana hasn't been around A.R.G.U.S for as long as June has, and isn't as uncomfortably familiar with how the organisation thinks. An all-powerful Japanese crime lord would be a pretty good edition to their collection of meta-humans. If Katana was looking for blood and revenge, she had gone to the wrong place.

June watches Katana go back to cleaning her blade. She notes that the girl is as prickly as ever, but that after last night there is some new tightness about the defensive hunch in her shoulders. Her face is set like stone in a way that does little to hide her anger.

"What was the witch like?" June questions – almost feverishly - not taking her eyes off of Katana. She needed every little detail about the witch's behavior and June is well aware that getting Katana to open up that much is going to be like squeezing water from a stone. Not for the first time, June badly wishes that she could be aware for these episodes of possession, so that she didn't have to rely on second-hand accounts. "Did she do anything threatening? Say anything to any of you that you thought might have been weird?"

Katana's face, if possible, becomes even tighter. "We lost our cover and were overcome by Bane's mercenaries…if it hadn't been for the witch…the mission would have failed."

June looks at the other woman incredulously – realising abruptly that Katana is _jealous,_ of all things. "What are you talking about?"

Katana looks at her blankly. "She saved all of us," she tells June – her tone blunt, though it is clear she finds no joy in this fact.

June blinks and stares down at the tray of food in her lap, trying to collect her thoughts.

 _She saved all of us_.

The situation is so starkly similar to the months ago when June had discovered that the Enchantress had healed an entire city of the plague. She remembers the giddy feeling of awe – even excitement – that had come after the memory. Now she just feels anxious and suspicious.

"Why would she do that?" June says, voicing her question aloud, only half expecting an answer. "She doesn't… _care_ about any of us. She doesn't care about this world. She hates it."

Katana shrugs, as if it's obvious. "Your people have her heart. It would be suicide…the highest stupidity…to attempt anything. "

But June shakes her head. Coercion aside, something didn't feel right. "That's not the point – it would have been so easy for her to stand back and allow you guys to get killed, right? So why help? What does she gain from it?"

But the young woman goes back to cleaning her sword – clearly not as engrossed with the witch's behaviour as June herself is. To June, the blade already looks pretty pristine, but Katana continues to grimly wipe it down, as if there is still blood there that June cannot see.

June's skin prickles and she forces down a wave of irritation at Katana's reticent attitude. The girl's just spent fifteen hours with the Enchantress – how was it she didn't have any more worthwhile information to tell her? Apparently, for the samurai, it was enough to say that the witch had 'saved them all'.

It wasn't for June.

She opens her mouth and attempts to pry information from a different angle. "How did she interact with the rest of the squad, then?...Was she sympathetic? Did she appear to…identify with the meta-humans from Belle Reve?"

To June's surprise, Katana gives a light snort of amusement. She mutters something to herself in Japanese – before saying to June in precise English: "she seemed to think she was better than all of us."

"Well, she _was_ worshipped as a God for hundreds of years – not that I'm excusing her behaviour or anything –" June hastens to add, as Katana shoots her an unimpressed look from underneath her fringe. "She likes to remind people of it. A lot. I'm not surprised that she brought it up."

Katana heaves a sigh. Having already started off in a pretty bad mood for no apparent reason, its clear her patience is beginning to wear thin and that she would like nothing better than for June to leave her alone. "I am not sure what you want to hear Doctor Moone, but I can tell you that your witch posed us no threat during the mission. She was very protective of Colonel Flag."

Here, Katana's voice drips with biting jealousy once more – obviously feeling that her position as bodyguard had been usurped.

" _What_?"

June looks at the other woman, thoroughly non-plussed. Of all people, the Enchantress should dislike Rick the most. He had always hated her – always been mistrustful of her, from the very beginning. Rick had been the biggest advocate of killing the Enchantress without a second thought, where June and A.R.G.U.S had insisted on keeping her alive. He had done little to hide his animosity.

But June soon finds that Katana isn't the only person to have a different perspective on the Enchantress to June. The moment they land at the airport in Midway City, a now-familiar sight is waiting for them on the runway: Waller, along with a team of A.R.G.U.S scientists and security personnel who immediately set about loading the Converter into one of the sleek, black SUVs.

June overhears the nearest scientist talking to their colleague as she weaves through the crowd of people. "…this is incredible…" a tanned, Chinese man is muttering to a colleague – and June thinks that he's talking about the Russian-made weapon until he says: "…the discovery of magic is gonna shape this century…fuck, it's gonna shape the history of human-kind - I'm tellin' you…"

June's head whips round so fast, she thinks she cricks her neck, but the man is immediately lost in the general bustle.

There were so many people crowded on the tarmac – at least twenty. June abruptly wonders if they're here for the Converter, or the Enchantress.

Rick is walking next to her; sunglasses shielding his eyes against setting winter sun; unusually strong for this time of year, and streaking the sky a bright, bloody red. Midway City, positioned on the West-Coast, is a lot warmer than D.C. – here June barely even feels a chill, despite the fact that it's November and she is only wearing a pair of khaki trousers and a baggy t shirt that had been given to her out of necessity. She had had nothing else to wear going into the mission beside hoodies and pencil skirts. If she'd known their trip would have extended quite so far beyond Florida and Belle Reve, she would have packed more thoroughly.

"Dr Moone…Flag," Waller greets them both, as ever dressed in a pristine, block-coloured pant suit – this time a crisp white. She does not glance at Katana, who stands – silent and watchful – a little way off. June, with relief, realises that the security guard at Waller's side is holding her tiny suitcase. They hadn't just left all her things in D.C. She rummages through and double checks that the earrings Rick had given her are still there before finding her glasses and finally shoving them onto her face. Everything slides into abrupt focus, and June feels slightly less of an idiot, although standing opposite Amanda Waller, it was hard not to automatically feel inferior.

"Congratulations, Colonel; the operation was a success," Waller says to Rick – only a slight quirk to her lips betraying any kind of satisfaction.

"'Success?'" Rick shoots back, incredulously – sounding irritable and short-tempered despite his nap. "Our cover was blown. We almost got caught by the police, and two of the team are dead. It was a god-damn mess! I ain't seen an operation worse than that… _ever_."

"It doesn't concern me that the Weasel got his brains shot out. We have the asset and we still have the witch. You did the right thing destroying Slipknot when he stepped out of line…First man through the wall always gets bloody, Flag – you know that," Waller reminds him, calmly.

And finally, June puts her finger on what is unsettling her so thoroughly about this whole thing. Not only is there an excited buzz to the activity around them – a poorly disguised air of anticipation – but Waller almost seems to present the Converter and the Enchantress as linked in some way. June's brow furrows, immediately realising once more that she and Rick don't have the whole story.

"What do you need the Converter for?" she interjects, sharply – not bothering to keep the accusation out of her tone.

Waller turns her unblinking eyes to June. "Doctor Moone…after all this time your levels of perceived entitlement are still _breath-taking_."

"I know. I'm a massive pain – _what_ do you want with the Converter?" June replies, impatiently, knowing Waller would give all the money in the world to have the witch and the heart, sans June's body. Her involvement and humanity was an annoying, complicating factor in the shorter woman's schemes. "And what does it have to do with the Enchantress?"

Rick glances at June quickly, and she can tell that he hasn't put things together as quickly as she has.

Waller merely looks at June impassively for a moment, visibly weighing something in her mind. "Come to headquarters tomorrow," she replies, eventually. "We want to run some tests."

"I want to know when we get to go home," June says, stubbornly. "- And I'm not a lab rat."

"You'll go home when we're done here –" And when June opens her mouth once more to argue, Waller rolls her eyes, adding: "before Christmas, at least. How's that?"

Rick and June watch Waller climb into the front of the same SUV as the Converter was loaded into and drive away. As the cars begin to disperse one by one, the oddly colourless city of Midway becomes a little clearer in the distance. It is less sleek than D.C., and more sprawling – with fewer green spaces and more concrete. Still, there is a certain rough-edged beauty to the coastal city. The sea is visible in the distance and flat, dessert-like terrain stretches as far as the eye can see either way.

One driver waits impatiently for June and Rick, and it is with a mounting feeling of reluctance that June climbs into the jeep.

"Well," Rick says, as the car pulls onto the freeway – which is merely a massive, pot-holed strip of road in the craggy countryside leading into the city. "Here we go again."

* * *

The hotel A.R.G.U.S put them up in is a lot less flashy than the one June and Rick stayed in in D.C. The only plus side is that, as far as June can tell, there are no other A.R.G.U.S employees checked in. Waller herself is elsewhere and Katana had disappeared on the runway. For the first time since Florida, Rick and June are properly alone.

Their small hotel room has been decorated with earthy oranges and greens – a small, spindly cactus sits on the windowsill and the sink tap in the tiny kitchenette drips water. It's dark outside, and it is a relief that June notes the air con instantly comes on the moment Rick flicks the lights, dispelling the oppressive, dry heat.

June throws herself down on the bed with a groan. It's lumpy in the wrong places, and she swears she can feel a spring digging into her lower back. "Urghh – this bed is so _hard_!" she says, pulling a face and pushing herself up onto her elbows.

"Yeah, that's what she said –" Rick throws at her; only half paying attention as he shrugs out of his uniform haphazardly. His jacket is thrown over a chair, his boots kicked underneath a table; his wire placed on the chest of draws next to the boxy old TV. June doesn't realise he's leaving a snail-trail to the shower until Rick steps out of his pants on the bathroom threshold – so intent on getting to his destination that he doesn't bother to close the door behind him.

A minute later June hears the sound of water spray hitting tiles and she stares into mid-space, thinking hard and chewing on her lip. Something's bothering her – but for some reason her mind keeps on conjuring up an image of Katana. Its several seconds before June realises what her brain's trying to tell her.

 _She was very protective of Colonel Flag._

June's eyes narrow. Her eyes fall to Rick's trousers lying crumpled on the floor. She gets up from the bed, stepping over the pants neatly. The small bathroom is already steaming up slightly – the off-white tiles beneath her feet damp with condensation.

Rick's back is to her, but he senses her presence and turns. His wet hair is mussed – a strand falling into his eyes. Soap drips down the tattoos across his chest and on his arms…June can't help the way her eyes fix on the defined V of his hip bones, or linger on his muscular thighs.

He doesn't question the fact that she is standing there, but his slow smirk reminds June that she's still fully clothed. She continues to stare at Rick, her mind still racing.

"You gonna stand there all day, or –"

"Just give me a second."

June bends down slowly to unlace her boots. She sits down on the toilet seat to kick off her shoes and Rick gives up on all pretence of washing himself – lounging against the wall and waiting for her to join him, his arms folded.

He's clearly impatient. When June unclips her bra, she notices a muscle in his jaw jump.

"Water's gettin' cold June," he taunts, warningly.

She ignores him, continuing at the same, methodical pace – even folding her socks. Rick watches her every movement closely as she steps over the lip of the tub to stand at the other end. When Rick makes a spasm of movement towards her, June skitters just out of reach.

His eyes narrow. "What game are you playin', hm?"

"I'm not doing anything."

"Right."

She steps closer and this time Rick doesn't try to grab her – just watches curiously as she slowly joins him underneath the spray. Feeling emboldened underneath his gaze, June runs her hands across his chest, distributing the trail of soap suds there evenly across every inch of skin. The soap washes off quickly, and June lathers him up once more – repeating the same ministrations to his arms. With each passing minute, she can feel Rick tensing like a coiled spring. Several times, he lowers his head as if to kiss her, but June refuses to be drawn in.

"You're up to somethin' –" he says, finally, his eyes burning with frustration.

"So? Aren't you enjoying yourself?" June shoots back, biting on her lip to suppress a smile.

"Don't act innocent."

"…Look, just _relax_ –" June insists, winding her arms around his neck. But Rick is still looking at her with visible suspicion as she tugs his head down so that she can kiss him. The steam from the shower rises between them – blurring and then distorting their reflection in the bathroom mirror. June pushes herself up onto her toes and kisses him more languidly; but she wasn't counting on Rick's pent up sexual frustration. Automatically, his arms encircle her waist and the fragile push and pull they've had going on abruptly shifts in his favour. He physically dominates her, his lips moving hungrily and feverishly against hers. June finds herself kissing him increasingly harshly to hold her own – her breathing quickly becoming ragged and short.

If Rick is confused by her refusal to yield, he doesn't show it. Maybe it's what he needs right now, because the force behind his movements is breath taking – some well of pent up emotion is being let loose that he can no longer hide.

He pushes her back up against the wall and June scrabbles quickly to gain some kind of leverage, locking her legs around his waist. Her long brown hair is now wet through and plastered to her neck and shoulders – water droplets dripping into her eyes. June's nails catch the skin on his back and Rick grunts at the pleasure-pain of the sensation, her name instinctively falling from his lips.

" _June_."

A wave of satisfaction courses through her. June pulls away slightly, her lips hovering inches from his own. "Say it again," she instructs, breathlessly.

A slow smirk spreads across Rick's face. Maybe he's finally figured out what's going through her head. "June?" he says, almost a question.

"Yeah," June nods, moving her lips to the pulse point at the base of his neck in an effort to elicit the word again. "Say it again."

" _June_ –" she scrapes her teeth lightly against his skin and Rick's hips unconsciously buck into hers. "You've got no idea how much I want you right now." He groans, raggedly.

"You want me?" June asks, her head going hazy with lust. Her thighs are gripping his waist tightly and she can feel a dull ache starting to build between them that desperately needs to be relieved. There is water everywhere; pouring down their bodies.

" _Yes_ ," he hisses, as June continues to kiss every inch of skin she can reach.

"Show me."

Rick is as good as her demand. His eyes are burning with lust and desire as his hands move to grip her hips firmly. June vines herself more tightly round him as he pushes into her, a low groan of want escaping him. On June's part she feels heady – euphoric. The sensation of Rick inside of her; the feel of his desperate, hard grip on her waist is exactly what she needs right now.

June undulates her hips against his as he slowly enters her, grabbing his shoulders for leverage. "Harder," she insists – almost a gasp as she continues to grind tantalizingly against him in a bid to get him to do as she says. The ache between her legs is now so strong that she's panting; her eyes fix on his.

" _June_ –" Rick practically snarls out the warning. It only makes her feel giddy.

"Come on. Fuck me. Really fu –" But June's words cut off in a cry as Rick thrusts hard into her, the force driving her further into and up the shower wall.

Rick's hand crams between them to roughly rub at the slick bundle of nerves between June's legs and she lets out a loud mewl as the arousal in her body builds to a point where she think she might explode with the feeling.

She moves her hips in tandem with his, and June struggles to form the right words. "You're mine," she manages to gasp out, eventually; tunnelling her fingers through Rick's wet hair possessively.

There must be something about her words that get to him, because Rick buries his face into the side of her neck – the powerful muscles in his back visibly bunching and tensing. His thrusts abruptly become erratic – less controlled – and she can tell he's getting close. "I'm yours, June," he growls into her ear. And June can't help another mewl from escaping her – or the gush of heat that races to her core. Somehow, the words sound impossibly seductive coming from Rick. "I'm all for you. Not for anybody else –"

He punctuates each word with a hard thrust, stretching out her walls and hitting just the right spot each time. "Nobody else is gonna feel this –"

And June is abruptly seeing white; unravelling, as the ache that has been building inside of her becomes too much.

For a moment, she forgets where she is…then June becomes aware of lukewarm water spraying hard into her face; the misty fug of steam and the sound of Rick panting harshly as he, too, begins to recover. Her body is still pressed close to his – the sweat on her skin now feeling clammy as her body begins to cool.

Rick lets her legs carefully drop so that she's standing, but doesn't step away. June winces at the pleasure-pain of the movement, a dull soreness already setting in.

"You know…" he drawls, bracing a forearm against the wall over her head. June cranes her neck to look up at him, and has to smile at the impossibly satisfied look on his face. He looks a lot more relaxed now than he had earlier. "Not that I'm complaining, but…you didn't have to seduce me to hear me say that. You could'a just asked."

June blushes, pressing her lips together. "I know," she admits. "I _know_ how you feel about me…I just –" (here, she blushes even harder) " – wanted to hear you say it. It was worth it."

"Like I said: not complaining," he smirks, bending down to kiss her.

June breaths an audible sigh of relief. "I love you," she mumbles against his lips – only to make a sound of surprise a second later when Rick bites her bottom lip. "Wha- "

"You're mine, too, June," he tells her, his hot breath fanning across her face – his tone almost as dark as his eyes, which have deepened from amber, to a dull, glinting gold. "Don' forget."

* * *

The next day, June heads to A.R.G.U.S's official headquarters for the post-mission de-briefing. Which is kind of ironic, seeing as she barely knows what happened beyond what Rick had filled her in on in more detail that morning. But it's not her they need. She is going to A.R.G.U.S to provide them with the Enchantress; to erase herself once more.

June also has other plans.

She is determined not to be simply kept in the dark about Waller's agenda; especially now that she knows how precarious the Enchantress's co-operation is. What was to say that, somehow, the witch wouldn't kill someone else – like she had Melissa – in a desperate bid to get to the heart? Why had Waller needed the Converter – and why had she needed the Suicide Squad to obtain it for her, if it wasn't going to be used for some pretty questionable things?

On foot, June is waved through the first checkpoint. A.R.G.U.S headquarters are on the outskirts of the city, lying behind a thick concrete wall, covered with a light layer of dust blown in from the dessert. The facility buildings are low slung, with barely any windows – but June can tell that the place must be larger than it looks from the outside, judging by the amount of cars glinting in the parking lot. June looks at the A.R.G.U.S logo of the Vitruvian man which has been printed onto the boundary defences: somehow, in the light of day, it still manages to look demonic. Beneath are the same words as always, written in Latin – now taking on a vaguely ominous meaning.

 _Our search begins._

June continues to walk up the sidewalk to the main building, strands of hair from her ponytail already sticking to her sweaty forehead. Out here, there is no shade to provide relief from the hot midday sun.

Glass double doors slide open with a hiss, and a wall of air conditioning ripples June's clothes for a moment. The lobby she finds herself in is incredible. The ceiling is a pyramid of glass, revealing the bright, ocean-blue sky overhead; the floors are made of smooth stone roughly the same colour as the dessert outside. The lobby appears to be the top floor, and a network of escalators in the center burrow underground to the cooler, lower levels of the facility.

June feels vulnerable, being here without Rick. Like always, she feels like an imposter; as if she could simply be grabbed and whisked down to some laboratory against her will. But June is greeted by a pretty secretary – who is a lot less military and threatening than the front A.R.G.U.S usually put forwards. The impression June gets of the Headquarters is overwhelmingly that of a research facility, rather than an intelligence agency that uses Special Forces units to throw its weight around.

June wonders who decided to place the emphasis on search and exploration. Knowledge could not possibly come higher than espionage on Amanda Waller's list of priorities. This place does not bare her influence.

As they step onto one of the escalators, June asks the secretary, curiously: "How long has Amanda Waller been head of A.R.G.U.S for?"

The woman's deep red hair catches the bright light cast by the glass ceiling before they descend down into cool shadow. "Oh, about nine months now, I think."

Nine months. But June had known Waller for six months, and for the entirety of that time, they had never been _here_. June can't believe Waller's instatement had been so recent; the woman had always given an impression of permanent authority. "So she spends most of her time on the road?"

"Mostly. Ms Waller isn't the kind of person to sit behind a desk in HQ…This is mainly a meta-human research post now. She stresses liaison with local law enforcement for the intelligence side of things, so, yeah, she's mostly been going from state to state since she was promoted. We don't see her a lot here."

From the secretary's tone, June gets the impression that Waller significantly changed things from its usual setup. She also gets the sense that locating low-level meta-humans within communities is somewhat unorthodox. June had only ever heard the term A.R.G.U.S used in conjunction with big discoveries, like aliens or Superman or the Enchantress. Perhaps Waller was now shifting the organisations focus to a grassroots level…June remembers the round-ups of criminal meta-humans Rick had been doing when she first met him, and a small shiver runs up her spine that has nothing to do with the cooler air.

What was A.R.G.U.S _for_ exactly? And what did Waller _want_ it to be for?

The secretary steps neatly off the elevator and leads June down a corridor lit with bright, artificial white light. There are thick doors with security codes, and June would not have guessed they were laboratories, had painted lettering saying LAB 3 or LAB 4A not been stenciled neatly next to each door. It would be impossible to determine what was going on in each room – had June not caught a snatch of conversation as two scientists pass them in billowing, white lab coats.

"… _the electromagnetic waves are off the chart…"_ the woman is saying to her male colleague – who, June realises, happens to be the same man she had overheard on the airport runway the day before. "… _I mean, I overheard Jeff say that that Waller lady wants to use it for recon…but why on earth she'd do that when this thing can power a city…"_

" _\- we're not supposed to have this kind of technology, remember?"_ the man mutters back, stressing his words significantly. " _I mean, that heart they have down in Lab 2 isn't even–_ "

But before June can hear the rest, the two scientists veer left up ahead – swiping their security passes and entering through a door that reads LAB 1.

Instinctively, June guesses that the pair are talking about the Converter, and whatever Waller wants with it. She twists her head hopefully as they pass the door – hoping to encounter a window that she might be able to see through; but she's faced only with a blank, grey door and a black rectangle of plastic through which cards could be swiped.

"This way – " The secretary says, when June slows to get a better look at the laboratory. She has no choice but to follow her.

They walk right to the end of the corridor – which seems a bizarre amount of walking to do to get to someone's office as important as Waller's. But when June opens her mouth to ask why, she reads the plaque on the door properly.

AMANDA WALLER

 _Meta-Human Crime Department_

"She didn't change her office when she got promoted," the secretary explains, catching June's expression. "I guess there's no point, really, when she's away so much…Everyone thought it was an odd choice when someone in major crimes was appointed Head of A.R.G.U.S, but I guess when things get rough, people want someone who'll take a hard line, and after Superman died…" the Secretary shrugs unnecessarily, tailing off, also staring at the plaque. Perhaps Waller wasn't an enigma to just June, then.

"They'll be with you shortly," the secretary informs June, as she admits her into a large, airy office. June cannot detect that Waller has made any changes to the space since becoming head of the Agency. There is still a map tacked to the wall, with different states shaded different colours. There are also complex looking graphs and charts, as if Waller is attempting to figure out some kind of trend in the population.

To June's surprise, the secretary is far more genuinely trusting than the A.R.G.U.S employees she is used to. Instead of being watched or handcuffed, the girl offers her a cup of coffee and then excuses herself politely from the room. June blinks as the door shuts behind her, unused to being treated like a human being for once.

June hovers for a second, before heading over to the computer on the desk. She knows, realistically, that Waller will have the place bugged – that it would be rash beyond belief to try anything. The computer predictably is password protected, and so June begins to rifle through draws impatiently – but there's nothing in them.

And why would there be? If what June had heard was true, it wasn't as if Waller was around much to file paperwork. All of her information on the Enchantress – on the Converter - would be elsewhere.

Stepping back from the desk with a sigh of frustration, June is about to text Rick when a file on the desk catches her eye. It's clearly been left there recently for Waller to look at, and June wouldn't pay attention to what otherwise looks like a lot of medical charts stapled together, had there not been a picture of the witch's heart attached.

June remembers the Chinese man's words. The heart was being kept in Lab 2 – wherever that was. But it was in the building.

She flips open the file and looks at the notes – glancing at the oldest update scrawled across the bottom. It's dated a week after they discovered the heart in Mexico – when June was still mourning for Melissa and – for a brief, blissful period of time – had been utterly left alone by A.R.G.U.S. As she registers what the notation is telling her, her whole body freezes and June's own heart constricts painfully in her chest. She has to re-read the scribbled note several times to believe it, blinking back the angry tears which are suddenly stinging her eyes. June chokes back a sob.

 _We are now confident that, whilst damaging the heart causes physical harm to the Enchantress, the heart itself has no visible effect or power over Doctor Moone herself. We therefore agree that complete destruction of the heart would result in the destruction of the witch, but not of Doctor Moone._

June is struggling to breathe.

She thought she was stuck with this. She had told her parents she would have to live with it for the rest of her life. She had convinced Rick to join the Suicide Squad. Had allowed herself to be manipulated – made into the weapon…all because she believed she had had no other choice. That this was the best possible use for the witch inside her body. Rick had stayed with her, despite them both believing that her body would never truly be hers again.

And it was all lies.

June's heart is thudding painfully in her chest. It's hard to think. She knows implicitly that this information would never have been passed onto her by Waller. She would have never been told…never known…

June drops the file back onto the desk and looks up, blindly.

She needed that heart. And she needed to destroy it.

June's not sure if either or both thoughts are her own or the Enchantress's. Her vision feels blurry, but that could be because she's so upset. She's emotional - on the edge of control - but at the same time, an iron band of determination is settling in her gut. The heart was barely meters away – in the laboratory. She just had to get in there, and somehow coerce Waller into opening the briefcase for her. Waller and Waller alone would be able to open it. She needed to find her.

And once she had, June would crush the thing, and end all of this. She was going to finish what the Enchantress had started; wipe magic off the face of the earth once and for all.

Her heart is fluttering in her chest. Neon colours streak her vision.

* * *

 **A/N** Sorry for the wait you guys (and I hope this chapter makes up for it!) Next chapter will get into the main events of Suicide Squad, and I'm super excited to add my own take on the Enchantress's attack on Midway City. It's going to be a lot smaller, and a lot more personal. If any of you were worried about reading through a re-hash of events, rest assured that both the Squad's and June's roles will be different (but still essentially stick to the plot of the film).

I enjoyed delving a little bit into the Waller's mysterious past. I feel at this point we know more about the Enchantress than we do her.

Thank you for continuing to support this story. I appreciate every single one of your reviews!

 _Last Of The Lilac Wine_


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